


The Art of Scraping Through

by konfusion



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Even Though He Pretends He Is, Ft. Roommates That Are Barely There, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, Smoking, Withdrawn Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konfusion/pseuds/konfusion
Summary: Derek goes to Samwell University ready for a new start. He meets a guy, and he finally thinks, this is it. He's a grown-up, he's cool, he's normal.It’s not that it wasn’t consensual.It was just a bigger deal for Derek than it was for him.Derek spends the next few months trying to get over something he should already be over with. It's harder than he thinks it'd be.
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse & William "Dex" Poindexter, Derek "Nursey" Nurse/Original Male Character(s), Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 139





	The Art of Scraping Through

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for: non-consensual sex, graphic self-harm, heavy alcoholism, lots of smoking cigarettes/other substances. Please be aware that this work revolves around recovery from a non-consensual sexual relationship and therefore is inherently based around heavy themes. Read with caution and look after yourselves!
> 
>   
> PS.If you want to listen to my Nursey playlist whilst you read, I'd be honoured; https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3qXhT2ZzAm7gvrPVA49LHi?si=aR6ZdkszSyOduBMjj8hm-A
> 
> PPS. Song title is a lyric from Hozier's 'Someone New', https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bPJSsAr2iu0
> 
> PPPS. This whole thing is based off of Ngozi Ukazu's Check Please comic series. I didn't make the characters or the settings or anything that's remotely good about this fanfiction lol. Start the comic here: https://www.checkpleasecomic.com/comic/01-01-01)

It starts with a graduation.

Derek leaves Andover having passed all of his classes even though he spent most of the time smoking behind the dumpsters. He graduates high school with those friends that he smoked with; Jordan and Noah and Mason. He stands next to Noah at graduation because their last names are next to each other and they compress their laughter as they watch Jordan’s older brother doze off in one of the folding chairs on the grass.

After the ceremony, they take photos by the old hall and the chapel and any other places that scream “yes, Carol, I did spend fifty thousand dollars on my son’s education because he is so much better than any of your children will ever be” so that Derek’s Mom’s Facebook page remains the home of humble bragging. There’s an afterparty at this guy Logan’s house, and they start drinking as soon as they can get away from their parents; chugging disgusting beer out of cans in Mason’s basement.

School was easy for Derek. He’s naturally smart and does well in exams. He found his place amongst his friends; the stoner guy, the chill guy, the out guy, the smart guy. The guy who was always up for a party and the guy who always knew the right thing to say. The guy who wrote poetry for his friends to send to girls they were chatting up. The guy who would help his friends out with their homework in return for pastries from Starbucks. The reliable guy. Derek made a persona at prep school and his confidence made him easy to talk to and easy to get along with. It was easy, easy, easy.

And so was the afterparty. Already a little buzzed on the three or four (or six) 13% locally-sourced IPAs he and his friends had been steadily drinking over the evening, Derek walked into Logan’s house with no worries at all. He’d heard that Logan knew some guys from Andover who’d graduated a year or so before, and he had some friends coming that were from out of state.

The party was good. It was every high schooler’s dream; the kind of party that you see in straight-to-Netflix movies. Music thumped and people danced and couples kissed. Derek lay on a beanbag in the garden. He accepted the joint that was passed to him by Noah, took a long, slow drag, and passed it on to Jordan.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Jordan said after taking a drag and attempting (and failing) to do tricks with the smoke that spiralled from his lips.

“Now? I just wanna sit in this garden and get stoned off my tits and worry about the rest later.” Mason sighed.

“Don’t be a jackass; you know what I meant.” Jordan said, letting his arm hit Mason in the stomach. Noah snorted laughter a little.

Derek stared at the stars, or what he could see of them through all this light pollution, and chewed his lip in thought. “I just want to start college right away, you know? This summer is going to be long as fuck. I just wanna get there instead of just waiting.”

And he does get there, eventually. His parents drive him to Samwell University and drop him off in his new dorm with exactly two suitcases and a kettle, and that’s it. They take several photos by the lake (the Pond, Derek later learns), hug him tight, and drive off. Derek waves as they head out onto the interstate, and immediately lights up a smoke.

He’s good at being alone but this is new. This is a new town with new people and new things and he’s just Not Sure how he feels about it yet.

But fuck, it’s gorgeous here. The air is cold and the leaves are changing from yellow and green to brown and orange. He watches a couple walking in the distance, mentally complains about his love life, and stubs out the cigarette.

There’s a fresher’s event in the evening, somewhere up by the big gym and the ice rink. Derek attends in hopes of finding the free pizza they advertised.

College is for sure a wake-up call. His roommate – who Derek _thinks_ is called Peter but he can’t be sure – scrimps and saves as much as he can and it’s fucking weird. Derek’s used to single-use bottles of Voss and this guy reuses the same plastic water bottle he got from the vending machine. He’s got slippers from a hotel that he uses on the regular and it couldn’t be more different to the guys he shared dorms with at his boarding school. They were the kinds of hyper-privileged kids that literally hired people to clean their dorms for them and considered anything from a regular high street store to be cheap. Thankfully Derek’s parents weren’t like that. Sure, they had money, but Derek wasn’t given everything to him on a silver platter. They were _good_ parents and he thinks he turned out okay.

He gets to the rink and sees a half-hearted banner tacked up above the entrance that reads ‘Samwell Men’s Hockey Fresher’s Party Here!!!” and he heads in.

It’s kind of exactly what he expects it to be. Three or four streamers pinned in the hall, a couple of balloons, some hand drawn arrows on flipchart paper to the space just before the ice and just through the locker room. He hears some shitty music – is that Katy Perry? – and chokes back a laugh when he sees the miserable scene in front of him.

There’s maybe twenty people here. Most of them seem to be oversized hockey players keen to recruit new students onto the team. There are maybe four girls here and they all share the same expression of ‘been chatted up too many times by too many lame guys and now I’m just here for the free booze’.

Derek only has a few moments to assess the room before some unidentifiable object jumps on him from the left.

“Nurseeeeeeey!” The figure shouts, unfortunately in Derek’s ear. He stands back and oh, that makes sense. It’s Shitty B. Knight, the one person that Derek maybe kind of knew before coming to Samwell. The human embodiment of a megaphone, but with better hair. Shitty was three years above him at Andover and they were on the hockey team for at least six months before Derek stopped showing up in favour of getting completely fucked up in Mason’s basement.

“Hey, Shitty. How’s it going, man?” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets for want of a better thing to do with them.

“It’s good, bro. You’re scheduled in for the Taddy Tour tomorrow right? Gonna meet the rest of the new guys on the team?”

“Huh?”

“Dude. Hockey. Team. Meet the others.” Shitty’s got this smile on his face like he can’t believe how dumb Derek could be. “It’s gonna be good, man. You’ll get the full Faber Memorial Rink experience from Lardo herself.”

Half of these words don’t make sense but Derek just nods along. Shitty leads him over to a group of people (never stopping to breathe in between talking), and slaps one of their asses as they approach. The slapped guy turns around disgruntledly, sees Shitty, and develops this photogenic-af smirk. Oh. That’s-

“Nurse, this is Jack Zimmermann himself. Captain of Samwell Men’s Hockey Team.”

Derek smiles awkwardly, and takes Jack’s hand to shake it.

“Pleasure to meet you, man. I’m Derek Nurse, I knew Shitty at-”

“Andover!” Shitty exclaims. “Dude, he was the _best_. Quickest guy on the ice for sure, brah.”

Derek doesn’t blush (disrupts his chill), but if he did, his face would be super red now.

This girl who Derek initially didn’t see chimes in at this point. “Hope you’ve still got some of those skills, Nurse. We need fast guys on the ice.”

This must be Lardo, Derek assumes. She’s small but brings around this atmosphere of ‘Don’t Fuck With Me or I Will Make Your Life Hell’. Derek loves her immediately. She slaps a cup of who knows what into Shitty’s hand and walks away again.

The rest of the evening goes the same. He meets pretty much all of the rest of the team, and is slightly intimidated by Ransom and Holster. They’ve gotta be like the doofiest but beefiest guys but Holster kinda scares him because he starts talking about economics and Derek backs the fuck out of there as quick as he can.

There’s this guy called Johnson, who says nothing to Derek except the exact words “generic hockey bro conversation filler” and walks off to go grab another drink.

And then there’s Chris Chow, who is enthusiastic about everything, it seems. He welcomes Derek with a great big hug and a too-fast ramble about how exciting Samwell is! And he’s heard some stuff about free homemade cookies on the Taddy Tour! And have you heard about the latest Sharks transfer? Derek kind of loves him already.

He actually finds his way to the ice. It’s so much nicer out here than in that stuffy room. He finds a stall that takes his fancy, and stares at the cloudy night sky through the giant windows.

He could get used to Samwell, he thinks. It’s quieter here than Andover. And it’s a fresh start, at least. And Shitty’s definitely got a good dealer so he’s set for the next four years. Maybe he could find a guy or a girl or whomever and fall madly in love and get married by twenty-five and-

His thoughts are interrupted by the slam of the giant fire doors. He whips his head around and-

Oh.

It’s this lanky kid with ears too big for his head and arms too long for his body and the most intense head of ginger hair Derek’s ever seen.

He blushes almost instantly upon seeing Derek. “Oh, sorry man. I didn’t think anyone else would be in here.”

“Nah, it’s chill. No worries.” Derek says, watching cautiously as this guy comes and takes a seat on one of the benches nearby. Derek inspects the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel and the Upper-West-Sider in Nursey can’t help but wonder where he bought it.

“I’m Will Poindexter, by the way.” He stretches out a hand for Derek to shake, and Derek almost laughs with how corny this guy is. But, nonetheless, Derek takes his hand and shakes it as nonchalantly as he can.

“Derek.” He stretches back, kicks his feet up on the bench in front of him. “You’re gonna be on the team?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping for one of the d-man positions. That’s what I played in high school, so.”

Fuck.

Derek’s gotta spend the next four years of his life partnered up with this lanky-ass excuse of a human being?

“Sure.” Derek says, and excuses himself. He heads out to the front and lights a cigarette. His time at Samwell is going to be harder than he’d thought.

Fast forward to November. Derek’s been here for two months and he’s more settled than he was to begin with, but it still freaks him out when his roommate Peter (it definitely could be Pierce) eats instant ramen three times a day because “It’s like eighteen cents a packet if you buy them in bulk!”.

Classes are okay. They’re still going over introductory modules but Derek thinks his eighteenth-century literature teacher is aces.

He tried out for hockey a week after orientation and didn’t even finish the try outs before he was given that d-man position he wanted. That Will guy skates up near him, tries to shake his hand (again, like what the fuck), but Derek just skates away.

But, as it turns out, they make a pretty good team. What Nursey lacks in accuracy, Dex makes up for tenfold. And although Will isn’t the fastest on the ice, he’s starting to catch up to Derek. They make a good team on the ice, but off the ice is another story. Derek can’t fucking stand the guy and his dumb-as-shit Republican ideologies. Like, a racist? At Samwell? On _Derek’s_ team? No thanks.

There’s a kegster, as there is every other week. This one is particularly rowdy. Derek squeezes himself through a group of freshmen to get to his kitchen and clocks Bitty, looking stressed as ever, as he refills a bowl of bagel bites.

That’s where he meets Brett for the first time. He’s hanging out in the hallway by the stairs, cup in hand as he talks to some girl that Derek has definitely seen around here before. Brett looks up and sees Derek, and Derek can’t help but smirk at that eyebrow raise.

But he acts as chill as he can and heads back to the living room to go and annoy Chowder for a bit. He feels Brett’s eyes track him as he moves across the Haus and god, how gross – but his heart gets a little fluttery.

Later, Derek sits on the balcony to smoke. He watches as some couple stagger off down the path to god knows where, and laughs to himself.

“Hey.”

Derek whips his head around to see where the greeting came from, and feels figurative exclamation marks pop up in his brain.

It’s Brett, of course it is. He comes and sits by Derek on the wooden bench and stares him down. Derek does the same. This guy, seriously? He’s exactly Derek’s type. He’s tall, definitely taller than Derek (which is mad as Derek is tall enough as it is). He’s got light blue eyes and brown curls and his hair is definitely longer than it should be and Derek can just imagine combing his fingers through that to pull him closer-

“Hey.” Derek says back, clearing his throat.

“I’m Brett.”

“Derek.”

“You on the team?”

“Yeah, man. Defence.” Derek looks down at his knees. “Haven’t seen you before, though.”

“Ha, I’d like to see more of you. Wanna take a walk?” Brett cocks an eyebrow, and Derek _melts_. He nods, and Brett jumps to his feet and stretches his hand out for Derek to take. Derek obliges, and laughs as Brett drags him out of the Haus.

They talk about everything and nothing. The weather. The playoffs. The midterms. Why barbeque sauce is superior to ketchup. And the whole goddamn time, Derek is just thinking to himself _this is it, this is what it feels like._

Derek listens as Brett tells him all about how difficult philosophy is, and how his teachers are outright hardasses. How he has no siblings, but does have a cat called Jerry for the irony, and that his family come from Brazil originally but they’ve been living in Michigan for the last few generations. About his best friends from home and how he misses them.

“Fuck, it’s four in the morning. I’ve got class at nine.” Derek laughs as he looks at his phone. They’re near the dorms, anyway. Brett grabs his waist and unexpectedly pulls him closer. And _oh_ , this is new.

Derek has kissed people before, but that was a long time ago. There was that beautiful blonde girl in eighth grade, who made Derek realise that actually, he might like boys. There was Michael, who was a friend of Jordan’s, who Derek kissed once in a nightclub bathroom. He tasted like gone-off cat food and Derek still winces when he thinks of him and that moment.

But here, now, Brett has a hand curving over his hipbone and the other resting on the back of Derek’s neck. Derek can hardly breathe.

Brett leans in and kisses Derek deeply, and _fucking hell_ that’s so much better than the other times. He peppers three, four, five kisses across Derek’s lips before pulling back and smiling.

This doesn’t feel like the other times. But Derek can’t get ahead of himself. Not yet. He’s only just met this fucking guy.

Brett takes his number and they text non-stop through the evening. And the next day. And the day after, and when Derek’s in class, and when he’s in practice-

“Nurse.”

Derek looks up like a deer in headlights when he hears his own name barked at him. He sees Shitty with a furrowed brow looking at him disapprovingly.

“Get off your fucking phone, man.” Holster says, half-jokingly, but with an underlying seriousness. Derek just gulps and hands his phone to Shitty, who tucks it away in his own locker. He catches Will concealing a laugh, and just elbows him in the ribs for good measure.

He texts Brett again after practice.

Derek: sorry about the radio silence. my teammates took my phone. how was your class?

Brett: no problem, how was practice? class was dull as usual. i’m brain dead now

Derek: haha. practice was good, fuckin exhausted now though

Brett: too tired to come over?

Derek: ?

Brett: i want to see you again. come to my flat?

Derek’s shaking as he looks at his phone. Questions dropping out, making a bogus excuse, or whatever. But for fuck’s sake, this is just sex, this is just something so normal, and he has to get it over and done with-

Derek: sure. text me the address and I’ll be there at 8

Derek takes the quickest yet most thorough shower of his life. Puts on his jeans that he knows fit him the best. He stands in front of his mirror, just trying to get his breathing under control. But his heart is thumping and his palms are sweating, and he can feel a lump lodged in his throat. It’s not too late to cancel, right?

No. He has to do this.

He heads downstairs, and as soon as he gets out of the dorms, he lights up. Hopefully the nicotine will calm his nerves a bit.

The walk to Brett’s isn’t bad, but definitely off campus. He’s in one of those private-owned houses just off of Jason Street. Derek has another smoke on the way. Just to be calm.

Brett’s room is exactly what Derek expects. Some shitty, half-hearted decorations are pinned up across the room; posters of bands that Derek knows but doesn’t care for, one old printed photo of Brett and two other friends, a stolen sign from campus somewhere. Mismatched sheets on the single bed, but hey – at least they look clean. A couple of mislaid items on the floor; jeans, shoes, a phone charger. Derek smiles. It shows personality, more so than whatever personality his own dormmate brings to the table.

He looks up to see Brett walking in with two empty glasses and a bottle of what looks like cheap vodka, and Derek smiles.

“It’s this or water, I’m afraid. You can have both if you want. Sorry.” Brett almost looks apologetic as he hands over a glass to Derek and pours out a shot or so. Derek rolls his eyes and smiles affectionately.

“Thank you.” Derek says, and tips the drink down his throat. Hopefully that will calm the nerves a bit. Derek is trying to remain chill but his brain is telling a different story.

“Hey,” he says, pointing to the photograph on the wall, “are these your friends from school you were saying about?”

Derek watches as Brett sets the bottle on the nightstand next to an old glass serving as an ashtray. His breath hitches as the other man stands behind Derek and snakes his arms around his waist. “That’s James, Tasha, and Jake. Actually, I told them about you.”

Derek spins abruptly to face Brett, and raises an eyebrow. “You told them about me already? We only just met.”

“Well, I tell them everything.”

“And what did you say?”

“That I met this guy.” Derek perches on the edge of the bed, looking up at Brett in amusement. “And he’s fucking gorgeous.” Brett steals a kiss. Derek takes one back, Brett gently pushes him so he falls back on the bed. And then Brett’s on top of him, propped up by the arms, with a smirk on his face that makes Derek’s insides twist.

It’s not that it wasn’t consensual. It was just a bigger deal for Derek than it was for Brett. Brett bragged about the men and women he’d been with; and sex was no big deal for him at all. But for Derek, this was a different matter. He was nervous and shaking and Brett ignored all of that to get off, it seemed. Derek disguised his anxiousness under fake moans and pet names.

And Derek was in pain. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes as Brett groaned yet again, as he thrust yet again.

It _was_ consensual. They checked in with each other before and during and it was fine. Whispered are you okays shared between kisses. And Derek always nodded, always said yes, because even though it _was_ consensual, it wasn’t as if he was in a situation where he could just pipe up and ask Brett to stop. Objectively, he could, but this was something he _needed_ to do, get over and done with, stop being such a freak loser frigid loner about it and just have sex like every other goddamn adult on the planet.

Brett ignored Derek’s request for a condom, and Derek felt even more uncomfortable after that.

Brett didn’t need to know that when he got back to his dorm, Derek cried in the bathroom for an hour. Gingerly cleaned up blood and sweat and tears and Brett’s-

And then Brett stopped picking up the phone. And all that went through Derek’s head was ‘what have I done wrong’.

After it happens, Derek isolates himself for three days. Doesn’t show up to practice. Doesn’t go to class. Texts the ‘Andover Boyz’ group chat the eggplant emoji and pretends to be chill when they hound him for deets. He makes up a much more interesting version of it than what actually happened. He fits in now.

His body disgusts him; his skin crawls when he sees his reflection. Derek doesn’t want to look in the mirror anymore. He covers up the one by the sink in his dorm. He wears baggy clothes to leave his form shapeless and high collars to hide the bruises Brett sucked into his neck. They fade away, but Derek still feels them under his skin and it makes him cringe.

And this whole time he just _knows_ he’s overreacting.

People have sex all the time.

It’s no big deal.

And he’s just making it into a big deal. So he tries to get on with his life.

He finds himself having nightmares every other night. Freud would say they mean something, but Freud also said that women were lesser beings than men, so Nursey doesn’t take anything from that hack as it seems. His nightmares leave him more tired than how he fell asleep. He wakes up in a puddle of his own sweat and feels disgusting. The cold sweat dries on his body in seconds and leaves him shaking, shivering, all the while feeling worse about the whole situation.

People have sex all the time.

It’s no big deal.

 _It’s no big deal_.

He sees Brett across campus on his way home from class on a Thursday. They acknowledge each other, if you can count Brett’s nonchalant glance and Derek’s panicked stare acknowledgement. The sight of Brett alone makes Nurse feel so sick and so guilty that he rushes back to his dorm, scouts out the cheap whiskey he bought in fresher’s week, and drinks enough of it to forget which way is up.

Seventeen year old Derek’s favourite cocktail was that of literally any alcohol, some really angsty music, and a Stanley blade to the thighs, stomach, forearms, ribs – wherever there was space. Nineteen year old Derek finds comfort in that too and slashes angry red lines across his thighs. That’s when he really knows he’s overreacting. Normal people don’t do this. He was an adult, for fucks sake, he shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t have blood dripping from his legs onto the cheap linoleum floor. He should have his shit together.

But, _oh_ , it’s comforting. It’s like an old, warm blanket. The sting of the sharp metal against skin, the bloom of red blood against white bandages, the burn of the shower on fresh cuts, the itch of fabric against scabs. It’s what he needs.

His clumsy drunk brain lets him forget for a bit. All he focuses on is getting that bit of gauze in the right place and to unstick the medical tape from itself. Some sober part of him way back in the back of his brain acknowledges what he’s doing. Realises that he’s a pathetic almost adult who’s leaning against the shower cubicle in their shared bathroom who can’t even think of a certain person without resorting to this.

He tries to sleep but the room is spinning too fast. So he goes and sits back in the bathroom and makes himself vomit until his throat is raw and his head is pounding.

It’s no big deal.

The next month is the same as before. Cheap alcohol, cold-sweat nightmares, a dozen new cuts to the thighs every night.

Shitty finds him one day on the roof of the Haus, as he scrawls angry letters into his journal, as if that were any help. He’s got a joint resting on a makeshift ashtray (SMH branded and Chris-chipped mug), the smoke furling onto the faded Andover Junior Hockey sweater he’s wearing.

“Dude,” Shitty says, taking a seat next to Nursey, “you’re smoking up here and you didn’t tell me? Bro code 101!”

Shitty doesn’t seem to notice Derek abruptly slamming his journal shut, because he’s too busy grabbing the joint and taking a lengthy drag.

“Sorry, man.”

Shitty exhales, and passes it back to Nursey. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Nursey.”

“ _Nothing_ , Shits. It’s honestly chill.”

Shitty rolls his eyes, and leans back on his palms. “My major is literally understanding how people lie. I can tell that you’re not telling the truth. There’s something up, but I’m not gonna push you further.”

Nursey grits his teeth, and closes his eyes.

“But I am going to be very cliché and let you know that we’re all here for you if you need us. No strings. And if you wanna talk, we’re here.” Shitty takes the joint again, and looks over to Nursey. “And if you need me to hide a body, well, I’ve watched a lot of _How to Get Away With Murder_.”

Nursey huffs out a laugh. “Thanks, Shits. Noted.”

Shitty punches him lightly (by Shitty terms) on the shoulder, and heads back in through the window. Derek sighs and flips open his journal again. He takes a final drag as he reads the words _it was consensual_ and _you are being dramatic_ and _get over it, idiot_. He stubs out the joint on the back of his hand, winces, and heads inside.

Next week at practice, things are better. He only had three nightmares over the last five days, so he counts that as a win.

Locker rooms are hard, but they’ve always been hard. They’re actually easier now that the new cuts are only on his legs and not all over the fucking place like they used to be. Just thin, white scars that have faded so much over time they’re only visible if you’re actually looking. For the most part – the ones that are still raised and the scar lies a little weird are the ones that you can still see. He should have probably gotten stitches for those ones.

Nursey usually hangs out in the locker room with the other guys whilst they change, and he cracks jokes with them so they don’t notice he’s still in his full hockey gear. If he’s feeling good then he’ll change his shirt there. More often than not he’ll use the singular shower/toilet cubicle, mumbling some bullshit excuse about needing to pee or wanting to put his music on or whatever. The guys don’t question it. Hopefully they think it’s a dick envy thing or a body image thing and honestly, Nursey couldn’t care less as long as it wasn’t the actual reason.

The Incident happened four months ago and Derek is awake for most nights now. At best he gets four or five hours over a forty-eight-hour period. It kind of works out okay because he gets his research done at night and then doesn’t have to focus as much in class. It also works out okay because then he doesn’t have to spend as much time asleep with the nightmares.

Brett usually haunts his sleep and appears large, looming, and always with control over Derek. Sometimes the Incident repeats itself in the nightmare (those are the worst ones) but sometimes it’s just his face, his body, laughing and mocking Derek. Derek is trapped, paralysed, or unable to run away fast enough. He always wakes up in a pool of sweat but if the nightmares get bad he wakes up with tear tracks on his cheeks too.

So yeah.

It’s been four months.

It’s that beautiful time of the year when the trees start growing their leaves back and the cold sun shines over the Middle Quad in the morning. He’s got early lectures this semester, and coincidentally Shitty started his internship in the law department this semester too. They grab coffee to go from Jerry’s and walk over together.

The team talk about sex, too. That’s a given – it’s a team of college guys who are chock full of tub juice and pheromones and so naturally, they talk about sex.

They’re not as bad as Derek’s boarding school friends though. Derek spent the last three years of his life being made fun of because he hadn’t had sex, like what was he _frigid or something_ and when he defends himself _oh you wanna save it for someone special? That’s hella gay dude_ (like what?).

So when Derek gets to Samwell and there’s bowls of free condoms and lube and pamphlets on staying safe, Derek feels like he can breathe again. And feels comfortable in his own body – even if it’s just for a bit. Goes to that kegster, meets Brett, and well – he’s back to square one again.

Derek tries to keep it in check, to be fair. It’s just sometimes things come up that make him want to vomit and sometimes there’s things that actually do make him vomit.

Like this one time, for instance, they’re in the lounge for movie night. It’s a Chris Chow invention – Bitty provides the pies, Dex provides the popcorn, Holster chooses the film and then Ransom repicks the film so it’s actually tolerable. He holds up a DVD case – who even has DVDs anymore? Holster rolls his eyes and flicks him in the head for choosing it over _Boss Baby_ , but still settles into the couch regardless. 

And there’s a sex scene. And there’s hoots and howls from the other guys. A couple of comments about how hot the girl is. One or two comments about her technique.

But it feels like the comments are coming in through television static and Derek feels goosebumps come up in waves across his skin. He fidgets and tries to keep calm but then she lets out this loud, obnoxious moan and Derek feels the bile come up in his throat and-

“I gotta piss.” He says shakily, getting to his feet and all but running out of the room. They chirp him because they think he’s acting like he’s gonna go up to the bathroom to jerk off but instead he goes up to the bathroom and finds a razor – anyone’s, he doesn’t fucking care – and tugs his jeans down and when that blade comes in contact with his thigh it’s like a wave of silence washing over him. It’s like he’s in a trance as he cuts once, twice, thirteen times. The tiles are cold beneath his legs but the blood is flowing out hot and it’s like the most comforting combination ever and Derek just feels like he can breathe again.

He sits for a further five minutes and then he tosses the blade in the trash. Cleans up and finds a box of band aids (this has gotta be Jack’s bathroom) and makes a temporary bandage. Pulls his jeans back up and fastens them, washes his hands, and goes to leave.

Shitty is outside the door. Derek’s heart flies into his throat.

“Are you okay, brah?”

“Yeah man.” Derek replies, trying not to look Shitty in the eye. “Just, uh. I think I’m getting sick.”

Shitty’s face changes immediately, his somewhat coy smile softening into concern. “Oh, dude. Don’t spread it here. Go home, get some rest.”

Derek’s thankful as fuck that he doesn’t question him further, so he slips out the Haus and lights a smoke as he heads back to the dorms.

That’s never happening again, he tells himself. He can only do that in his own space. That’s not fair. He feels even more disgusting than before as he walks home.

It’s ten in the evening on a Thursday when he uncovers the mirror in his room. Yanks his shirt off, and takes a deep breath before looking himself in the eye.

He spends far too long staring at himself. Scrutinising every single little part of his body he can see. The way dark moles stand out across his shoulders. How his nipples are just slightly misaligned. The ink of his tattoo bleeding across skin, the space between his eyebrows being too small, the trail of hair on his lower stomach. The tremor in his hands that hasn’t gone away for four months. It all just makes him angry.

Why couldn’t his body work properly like everyone else’s? Why did he have to be this guy with old scars on his stomach and arms and fresh cuts stretching down to his knees? Why did he have to be this person that was so affected by what should have been one little insignificant experience?

He snaps out of it, flops down on his bed, and thankfully Peter (maybe Patrick?) has gone on vacation for the week so he grabs a lighter through trembling fingers. He’s new and exciting, he thinks, he’s mixing it up for a change! He watches as the yellow flames lick the skin just below his left hipbone. Curses as he feels the welts develop almost instantly. But the tremor in his hands stops, even if it’s just for a second, and his heartbeat slows down to a steady thump like it should do.

He reaches under his bed and grabs the bottle of whiskey he picked up from the Murder Stop n’ Shop and takes a huge, dramatic swig.

That’s when the drinking really kicks in.

But no one really notices. It’s university culture, right? Get shitfaced as cheaply and as often as possible. It’s celebrated and revered and thankfully, that covers Derek’s ass a bit.

He turns up severely hungover at practice more often than he’d like to. This one time in February he vomits three times on the way and once more in the bathrooms at Faber.

“Nursey, are you okay? You look pretty sick.” Chowder comments as he cautiously nears Derek.

“Yeah, all good.” 

“What did you _do_ last night?” Dex says as he watches Derek chug a whole bottle of water in one go.

“Nothing, man. Just, uh, a party with the basketball team. No big.” Derek tosses the bottle back into the bag and heads to the ice to get a head start.

He skates like shit. The team notices. Jack scowls at him from across the rink and Derek feels his heart sink to the pit of his stomach with guilt.

“Yo, Nursey, what the actual shit?” Shitty says as he enters the locker room. “The fuck was that out there?”

Derek sighs. “I know, I’m sorry. I just wasn’t focused enough.”

“Too fucking right, man.” Shitty shakes his head as he kicks off his skates. “Get your shit together.”

Easier said than done, Derek thinks.

That afternoon, he skips his contemporary classics class and heads back to the dorm to get absolutely shitfaced. Or, drunk enough to forget the embarrassment that he was this morning. That he is all the time.

The great thing about winter is that the nights get darker earlier, which means that Derek getting drunk at four-thirty in the evening doesn’t seem as bad as it could be.

He carries on for several hours. He runs out of whiskey and moves to gin, then to wine, then to whatever shitty warm beers he can find in the dorm. Thank fuck his roommate is out again.

He cuts, because of course he does. He’s running out of room on his thighs again, so stomach it is. And as per usual, that sting of the blade feels so good and inviting as he leaves angry slashes on already scarred skin. He is disgusting. This is disgusting. But he knows in his heart he wouldn’t do this unless it was necessary, unless he needed it to remind him that nobody can love him or even look at him the same way-

Maybe he passes out for a bit, or whatever, because he wakes up on the floor still drunk and still annoyed at himself. He grimaces as he sits up, dried blood caked on his body, and he doesn’t care enough to clean it up. He figures that maybe he should eat something, but looks in the fridge and all he has is one singular mouldy lemon. He sighs, and shrugs on a jacket. Chooses sliders instead of his sneakers because his stupid drunk brain can’t handle shoelaces right now. He makes his way across campus to the closest Stop n’ Shop (even if it is the racist one, he doesn’t care at this point) to grab some food, something.

He tries to light a cigarette as he’s walking but he stumbles, and loses his footing. Lands ass first in a heap of snow and swears to himself, but he lights that cigarette anyway. His legs are going numb, but that steady intake of nicotine is what his body craves right now.

He stares across the darkness and silently watches people walking under streetlights, hand in hand. He watches their breath puff up in the winter air and curses them for being happy and in love. How come they get to be in a relationship when all Derek wants to do is give all he’s got to someone else and get the same in return? Why is it so hard to just fucking meet someone who gives him the time of day?

“Nurse?”

He looks up to see Will, in his sturdy practical winter jacket and his sensible snow boots and his green bobble hat and Derek just huffs out a laugh.

“Pointdexter!” He exclaims, though it comes out more like _Pondessster_ which makes him laugh more. His drunk brain can’t translate Will’s bemused expression.

“What are you doing?”

“’M sitting in snow.” He chews on his lip and stubs out the cigarette in the snow, satisfied at the tiny hiss it brings. “Can’t remember why now.”

“… Are you drunk?”

“Yes!” He laughs, and then frowns. “But I’m cold.”

Will almost laughs too. He stretches out his hand for Derek to take, which Derek does clumsily, and helps the other man to his feet. Derek stumbles again but this time falls into Will, who steadies him.

“Woah, woah. Watch out.” Dex mumbles, making sure Derek’s feet are firmly on the ground. Derek can’t stop laughing because there’s this guy with the angriest expression helping him to his feet but he’s wearing this ridiculous bobble hat. In what world does Derek live?

“Oh no.” Derek whines, leaning heavily on Will’s shoulder. “I lost my shoes.”

Will just rolls his eyes. “You can come stay at my dorm. I’ll make you something to eat.”

Derek doesn’t reply because he’s too busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

Will’s dorm is exactly what Derek would have thought it’d be like, had Derek actually bothered to put thought into it. Will’s in the budget accommodation on the left side of the Pond, and somehow ended up on the fifth floor. They get the elevator, which reeks of piss and old food and god knows what else.

Will ushers him into a room, and mumbles something about heading to the kitchen. Derek’s confused brain just does what Will says, and he stumbles further into the room.

Will’s room is as expected, too. He shares it with someone else who thankfully isn’t in right now, but their side of the room shows a lot more about their character than Will’s does. Will has a set of navy-blue sheets on his bed, perfectly folded. He has one photo tacked up on the wall. A small table lamp and an Ikea mug holding three pens on the desk. A couple of books, a couple of loose papers, and a pair of shoes at the foot of his bed. And that’s it.

Derek takes it upon himself to sit on the desk chair, spinning around like a child and investigating the books discarded on the desk. _A Brief History of Coding_ and _Computer Engineering – Advanced_ are at the top of the pile, but on some loose sheets, detailed hockey plays are scribbled in blue biro.

Derek rolls his eyes, stands, and flops onto the bed. And – oh – that’s worse, because the room is spinning faster than the chair did, so he rolls onto his side and finds something to focused on. The singular photo on the wall, upon further inspection, captures seven redheaded people in front of a lake. Will’s there, two in from the left, beaming, with his arm wrapped around another person who looks remarkably similar to Will. Derek’s frown curves into a smile as he thinks of some poetic shit about how Will’s family are made of strong foundations, strong genes, strong people-

“Hey, Derek. Sit up.” Will thrusts a paper plate holding two very suspect looking slices of re-microwaved pizza, along with a glass of water. “Eat this, drink this.”

Derek does so, chewing quietly on rubbery pizza and watching at Dex as he potters around his dorm nervously. He shuffles books and folds clothes and eventually sits on the desk chair that Derek just vacated. They stare at each other for a long time.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Derek says eventually.

Will visibly tenses. “I didn’t want you freezing to death outside.”

Derek takes another bite of his pizza, and Will looks uncomfortable as he tries to figure out a way to ask this question.

“Derek, why were you in the snow?”

“Oh, I fell over.”

“Yeah, yep. Got that part. Why were you drunk enough to fall over in the first place?”

“It’s university.” Derek says, as though it’s obvious.

“It’s eight in the evening. Nothing… not even pre-drinks have started yet.” Will stands up, clearly stressed. “And it’s clear you’ve been drinking for a while to get this wasted, and you’re-”

Derek just laughs. Will doesn’t get how funny it is. He doesn’t _want_ to be drunk. He just likes the feeling of not being able to think of anything, let alone _that thing_.

“Derek, this is serious.”

“Everything’s serious with you!” Derek laughs. “Hockey shit and work shit and school shit… you just have to chill more, Will.”

“You’re seri- you’re _seriously_ telling me to chill right now?”

“Yes. Chill, Will. _Chill Will!_ ” Derek’s eyes light up at that rhyme. Will’s eyes roll into oblivion. Some sober part of Derek’s brain can see how exasperated Will is getting. He chews that last bite of pizza and leans over to rest a hand on Will’s knee.

“I’m… I’m just going through some shit. Drinking helps.” Derek said. That’s as honest as he’s willing to get right now. Will doesn’t need to know, and besides, ‘going through some shit’ could mean anything from relationship troubles to family troubles to school to money to _anything_ , so he thinks his vagueness can buy him some leeway here.

Will’s brow furrows, he glances at the hand on his knee (to which Derek quickly retracts), and he takes the plate out of Derek’s hand.

“I’ll throw this in the trash. There’s some sweatpants in the wardrobe, change into them. You can sleep in my roommate’s bed tonight.”

“Okay.” Derek says softly, thankful for Will and thankful that he left so Derek can change without anyone seeing. He quickly shimmies out of his jeans and into some faded grey track pants that smell like laundry detergent. He glares at his thighs as he pulls the pants up to his hips. His stomach is just as bad, if not worse. At least the ones on his legs are over a day old. The ones on his stomach are crusting over with blood, and it’s gross.

Stupid fucking cuts, and scars, and scabs, and all of that. Stupid fucking brain for feeling these emotions too much.

He lays on his side and can feel his eyelids growing heavy. He hears Will come back into the room but he’s just drifting off and can’t find the energy to say something witty in acknowledgement.

He feels a blanket being thrown over him and then nothing else.

He wakes up at three in the morning after a nightmare, Weird Drunk Brain Edition, where he’s wading through the water of the Pond and he can’t swim, and Brett is chasing after him in a speedboat. Gross.

Derek panics for a second because where the actual fuck is he, but then he comes to his senses and remembers. He casts his eyes to the left and sees Will, fast asleep in the bed next to him. His eyelashes are dark on his cheeks, and he looks so much more peaceful like this than with that perpetual scowl on his face.

He goes back to sleep, and instead of a nightmare, he dreams of pale skin and freckles.

Two weeks later on a Friday evening, Jordan texts him.

Jordan: open your door, Der

So Derek does, he heads downstairs to the reception and flings open the front door to see a shitty car with Jordan, Noah, and Mason leaning in front of it.

“What the actual _fuck_ , guys!” Derek exclaims, the first real smile he’s had in ages splitting across his face. “What are you doing here?”

Noah laughs, and leans in to hug Derek. “You’ve been AWOL in the group chat. And we’re losing our minds back home.”

“Honestly, there’s nothing fun to do down there. So we thought we’d drive down and come hang, see what your life is like.” Mason says cheerfully.

Derek laughs in disbelief. It feels so good, and so strange at the same time, to have a slice of home here in his university town. To him, they’re two different worlds, and suddenly they’re merging together and Derek is uncomfortably overwhelmed.

Jordan notices, because that’s what he’s always done. “Der, show us your room?” Derek nods, and leads them up the ratty staircase to his dorm.

Derek opens his door, and Mason runs in immediately to flop on his bed. They smile at his open books, affectionately yet mockingly reading out passages of literature he’d highlighted. Noah laughs at his secret alcohol stash under his bed, and takes a huge gulp of whiskey.

“So, where are we going out?” Noah says, wincing after the whiskey burns his throat.

“Oh. Um.” Derek thinks for a moment. “Maybe down by the river? There’s a couple of good bars there. And they don’t ID. So.”

“Sweet.” Jordan says, reclining as much as the desk chair will allow.

“And when do we get to meet your teammates?” Mason says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“We can meet them at the Haus for pre-drinks. They’d be up for it.”

“And that boy? Brett?”

Derek’s fingers freeze over his phone’s keyboard. “Oh. We’re not. We… we’re not together.”

Mason scoffs, sitting up only to roll a smoke because he couldn’t do it lying down. “That sucks, man. What happened?”

“It. Wasn’t a long term… thing. Just a fling.”

“Well then,” Jordan says, smiling widely, “let’s make sure you get laid tonight.”

Derek is at the Haus with his school friends and his college friends intermingling and he doesn’t know whether he wants to cry or vomit or laugh. Someone ordered pizzas, and Bitty just got done with a new recipe he found online for red velvet cookies. There’s some shitty music being played somewhere and faintly, Derek recognises Jordan’s laugh reverberating through the living room.

Derek is frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at the kitchen table with his third – maybe fourth – glass of whiskey and coke in his hand. He’s gripping the cup so tightly, the plastic bends and crackles in protest.

He knows he needs to cut. He needs to just go to a bathroom somewhere and just a few new scratches – the light ones, that don’t bleed as much, but hurt like a bitch – will do, but he can’t. Not here. He promised himself, _not here_. There are too many people, too much room for mistakes. So what is he supposed to do?

He downs the rest of his drink. And grabs another. And another. This is the only way he can make the tremor in his hands go away for now.

It’s fine. It should be a good night out. A laugh. But why, fucking _why_ , did they have to bring _him_ up? Derek knows it’s stupid. They’re just trying to keep up with his life. But this is the one that stings the most.

He heads to the porch to smoke. Maybe that steady intake of nicotine could help him calm down. Even just a little bit. He hears the porch floorboards creak, and looks up to Jordan, walking over and coming to take a seat on the steps next to him.

“Your new friends are cool, man. That Jack guy? I think Mason’s a little bit in love with him.”

Derek scoffs. “He can fight Bitty for him, then. Those guys have basically been dating since they got over their ‘I hate you and everything you stand for’ phase.”

“That sounds like you and Dex.”

Derek very uncoolly coughs on his cigarette. “What?”

“You hated Dex when you first got here. I distinctly remember you ranting in the group chat about this ‘lanky-ass Republican with no fashion sense’ guy that was gonna be your defence partner.”

“He’s not actually Republican-”

“And now I just spent the last thirty minutes talking to him about you and he talks about you like you fucking hung the moon.”

“You’re lying.”

“Dude I swear!” Jordan laughs, holding up his right hand to his shoulder in a salute. “Scout’s honour.”

Derek says nothing further, just raises his cigarette to his lips again, but he sees Jordan smirking out of the corner of his eye. Jordan gets up, and brushes down his shirt.

“We’re heading out soon.” He says as he heads back into the Haus.

Derek takes the last drag of his cigarette and stubs it out on the inside of his wrist, and barely even winces when it stings like a motherfucker. He rises to his feet and heads back in too.

Inside, Shitty is loudly trying to organise people to getting up and walking out of the door. Ransom, Holster, Mason, and Lardo are all refusing to finish their flip cup match. Bitty is practically _hanging_ off of Jack, both of them giving each other the most major case of heart-eyes Derek has seen. Chowder and Dex are animatedly talking with Jordan and Noah about something or other, and Derek slides over to them.

“Let’s goooo.” He says, pulling on Noah’s arm.

The club is actually not far from the Haus – it’s literally a block west – but Ransom trips on the pavement and makes a dramatic event of the fact that he _almost_ died, so it takes a little longer. Once they’re there, they get in quickly. Shitty knows like, every member of staff at this place, so the security guys don’t bother to ID them. It’s pretty rad, even if the bouncer does give Chowder a quick once over. There’s only eight months between them, but Derek could definitely pass for early twenties if he needed to. Chowder looks like he’s fresh out of high school. Maybe it’s the braces.

The club is exactly what you’d expect for a shitty uni club. There’s loud music, loud enough that the base reverberates through Derek’s ribcage, and the floors are sticky with beer and rum and who knows what else. There are half hearted decorations stuck up to the black walls; posters of upcoming nights and concerts that the venue is hosting. Derek can see the dust sticking to the air conditioner vent and he’s counted at least two girls vomiting into a trashcan. The shots are cheap though, and Derek buys at least three rounds before the night is over.

In all honesty, he just wants to dance. But his high school friends are there, and they just want to talk about girls and boys and everything in between. Derek looks bored as Noah recounts this _totally fucking nuts_ sexual encounter he had with a woman ten years his superior.

“Derek?” Mason says, or shouts, rather, over the obnoxious song that’s playing.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Derek says, plastering on a smile. “I’m gonna go dance.”

It’s pretty packed, as it normally is on Fridays. Derek is dancing, vodka-Red Bull in hand, and this is what he has missed. Kegsters aren’t the same. He glances over to the DJ, who has Shitty’s arm wrapped around his shoulder as Shitty shouts something in his ear. They laugh, and Derek lets himself get lost in the music again.

He feels hands on his hips from behind. He looks over his left shoulder, and _hi,_ there’s this fucking runway model smirking at him. He’s a dark blue flannel over a band t-shirt, and he’s got dark hair and dark eyes, and is basically like a really hot version of that guy from _Teen Wolf_. He’s taller than Derek, which, _wow_ , that barely ever happens. And he’s properly hot, too – not just hot because he’s tall. Derek lets an eyebrow raise, and turns to dance with this guy.

And oh, the _energy!_ This guy really knows how to fucking move. Derek feels electricity – or maybe just adrenaline – in his skin as the guy traces his fingertips up all the way from Derek’s wrists to his shoulders.

And yes, Derek is drunk. We’ve established this.

So, because he’s drunk, he lets the guy trace his hands up, up, until he’s got one hand on Derek’s jaw and the other curled in his hair. Derek lets the guy kiss him. Right here, in the middle of this dance floor, where he knows his friends can see him. And it’s slow, and _filthy_ , and Derek wants more immediately.

But does he care that his friends can see? Of course he doesn’t. He rolls his hips a little, just to tease, and he gets pulled impossibly closer in response. The guy’s hands trail down, down, to rest on his ass, and as Derek leans back, he bites the guy’s lip just enough to keep him interested.

The thing about Drunk Nursey is that when he’s around other people, he’s good. He’s charismatic, he is quicker than usual with his jokes, he’s extroverted through and through.

But when he’s by himself? On the floor of his dorm with a bottle in his left hand and his blade in his right? He feels completely and utterly pathetic.

Right now though, he’s being taken to a less-crowded corner of the club, and pressed against the wall. He can feel his heart beating out of his chest as this guy just fucking goes for it, and Derek has to grab onto his hips so he doesn’t just melt into the floor.

The guy presses kisses on Derek’s throat, and leans in to whisper. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

And like that, like a fucking light switch, Derek is back in Brett’s room, sitting on the end of his creaky single bed, with Brett looming over him.

Derek gasps, not the good kind, and uses his leverage on the guy’s hips to push him back.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t have done this.” He gulps, trying to get away, but the guy just puts one hand on the wall next to Derek’s face, and the other pressing on his hip.

“Come on, baby, don’t be a tease.”

“No, _please_ , I’ve changed my mind-”

He kisses Derek again, and this is entirely too much, and Derek can’t breathe, and he’s trying to wriggle away, but the guy won’t let him go, he’s just sliding a hand down Derek’s abdomen and lower, lower-

“Dude, leave him alone.”

Will’s voice cuts through Derek’s panic easy as anything, and Derek nearly cries in relief when the guy actually backs off. He retains his chill though, adjusting his shirt and running a hand through his hair.

“What did you say?”

“I said, leave him alone. He’s clearly not down for whatever this is.” Will says, and when the guy steps towards him, he just rolls his eyes. “Back off.”

Before it can escalate, Will grabs Derek’s hand and pulls him out to the smoker’s area. It’s less than lustrous; just a fenced-off bit of pavement with too many people pressed into the space. But Derek finds a cool bit of wall to lean against, and he sinks to the floor and closes his eyes, trying to get his breathing under control.

“Derek, you good?”

Derek wants to answer, but his voice won’t let him, he’s trying too hard not to vomit on the pavement. Will gets it, and he crouches down, and runs a soft hand up and down Derek’s arms. It’s completely different than when the guy did the same thing on the dancefloor. Derek feels safe. He takes a few steady breaths, watching as Will does the same.

When he finally feels sane, he rolls his eyes at himself and grabs a cigarette from the packet in his jacket pocket. He offers one to Will, who shakes his head and turns to sit on the pavement next to Derek.

“I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“Dude, _no_ , it was clear that you weren’t into it.”

“I was, though. I was.” Derek sighs, exhaling a cloud of smoke that trails off into the wind. “At first.”

“But he took it too far.”

Derek scoffs, and then after a beat of silence, turns to face Will with a shit-eating grin. “So, you were watching me?”

Will laughs, and steals the cigarette from Derek’s fingers. “I saw enough to work out what was going on.”

Derek doesn’t push further. He’s not really in the position to chirp Dex, considering he just saved him from another Incident. Instead, he bows his head, and doesn’t look up as he softly says “Thank you, Will.”

Will nods, and claps a hand onto Derek’s shoulder. Wordlessly, he gets up and heads back inside to dance some more. Derek stays on the pavement.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” He says, to nobody at all.

They crash at the Haus when its over, bodies piled over one another on the floor and too many people in beds. They wake up on that Saturday at noon to the smell of Bitty making waffles. Derek wakes up with Noah cuddling into his side, and laughs as he realises he’s on the green couch he swore never to sit on.

It’s a Saturday afternoon two weeks later, and it’s nearing the off season, so the team decide it would be a great opportunity for a Bake and Bake event – the ingenious name for, as advertised on the private Facebook listing, ‘an afternoon of the finest weed we can afford, and a selection of deliciously baked goods from our resident pastry chef’.

Derek heads over at about three, and as he enters the Haus, he almost coughs from how pungent the air already is. He steps over no less than three items of clothing in the hall as he finds the guys sprawled out over chairs and floor and furniture in the living room. Someone holds up a joint for him and he takes it gratefully, throwing his bag in the corner and flopping onto a beanbag.

He's midway through the most delicious jam tart of his life when his blissful silence is interrupted.

“Hey, Derek, what’s your type?” Holster blurts obnoxiously from his seat in the ratty garden chair.

“Seriously dude, what is this, seventh grade?”

He earns a pillow to the face for that one.

“Answer the fucking question.” Ransom replies, and Derek can feel his cheeks warming up already – but not blushing, because that would be not chill.

“I don’t know, man. Someone smart, you know? Artistic? Doesn’t mind my…” He waves a hand vaguely around the general vicinity of himself, “whole aesthetic thing.”

“What, art hoe?”

“Nursey is _not_ an art hoe. More like… tortured artist.” Shitty frames his hands over Derek’s face like he’s taking a shot. Derek can only laugh awkwardly.

Dex gets up and leaves. Derek doesn’t know why. He takes another drag on the joint that’s passed to him, and tries not to think about it.

Shitty finds him sprawled out on the basement floor, the cool concrete soothing on his back. He’s listening to the whirr of the dryer and the distant sound of somebody playing Ariana Grande.

Shitty just laughs, and comes to sit next to him.

“What on earth are you doing down here, Nursey?” Shitty says, handing Derek a cookie (macadamia white chocolate chip, scoooore) and a fresh can of beer.

“Thinking. Chilling.” Derek says eloquently, sitting up to take a hefty bite out of the cookie.

“I have a question to ask you.” Shitty says, grabbing Derek’s hand and forcing him to pay attention. Derek stares into Shitty’s red-rimmed eyes and tries not to laugh.

“When are you and Poindexter gonna get your shit together and fuck?”

Derek coughs, spluttering cookie crumbs ungracefully over both his and Shitty’s jeans.

“Sorry, but what the actual fuck?” Derek says, but his palms begin sweating ever so slightly, so he wipes them on his jeans as calmly as he can.

“This weird competitive tension you guys have, you know, it’s just. He’s clearly got a thing for you, man. And you’re not picking fights with him so much anymore, but you’re sending him all these compliments that you never used to, and I don’t know if I picked up these signals weird, but my relationship radar has yet to fail-”

“No, no, no.” Derek shakes his head and holds out his hands as if to steady himself. “You… you got it wrong. He doesn’t have a thing for me.”

“Bro, I’m like ninety-seven percent sure he does. The last three percent isn’t there because I think he would also heavily be into a relationship with his toolbox.”

Derek huffs out a laugh, but can feel his heart sinking to his stomach. “Even if… even if that’s true, he wouldn’t want me anyway.”

“Nursey, what-”

Derek sniffs, feels tears prickling behind his eyes and furiously blinks them away. “I can’t do this relationship thing anymore, Shits. The last one… the last one fucked me up.”

Maybe it’s that good weed from the guy who deals behind the history building. Maybe it’s the fact that they just finished watching _To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before,_ but Derek’s feeling a little vulnerable now. And he trusts Shitty. And maybe it _would_ help if someone listened.

And so he finds himself recounting The Incident. And he uses his hoodie sleeves as a tissue to wipe away his snot and tears. He talks about sex and getting it over and done with and asking Brett to stop and how he didn’t, how he _wouldn’t_ , and how now Derek can’t even think about sex without wanting to vomit.

“He’s not going to want someone as broken as this.”

Shits grabs his hands tightly, making Derek look up at him. His jaw is set and his eyes are cold.

“You are not broken, Derek.”

“I can’t. I can’t sleep properly anymore.” He’s shaking. “I can’t stop thinking about it. it’s like it’s fucking controlling my life and I know he probably doesn’t even remember my fucking name.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re broken. A relationship is more than just sex. And if whoever you’re with in the future doesn’t understand that then they’re seriously not worth your time.” 

Derek is a Sad Sack (trademark pending) for the next few days after that conversation. He doesn’t know if it’s specifically to do with that, or if it’s just his mental health acting up again, but he feels in his chest it’s because he’s had to dredge up the things he’s specifically been trying to repress.

It’s Thursday, and he can’t get out of bed. His limbs feel like lead and his head is pounding.

Thursday mornings are practice. He texts Shitty that he has to skip and Shitty texts back three emojis: sad smiley, fist bump, and disco 70’s guy.

Derek spends the rest of the morning drifting in and out of sleep. His roommate leaves at around nine, and tosses a protein bar at Derek. Derek mumbles in thanks. Peter – maybe Phineas – has seen Derek like this before. His quietness is something Derek never mistook for rudeness, as he’s actually a pretty chill guy.

He knows he should get up to shower, or at least drink some water, but it’s like his body has just run out of energy.

His phone buzzes, and he winces as he opens the bright screen.

Dex: why aren’t you at practice

Derek rolls his eyes, and taps out a reply.

Derek: i’m sick

Dex: lame

Derek scoffs, and drops his phone somewhere in his duvet. He goes back to sleep. Wakes again restlessly after ten minutes, and instead, just rolls over and glares at his wall.

There’s a sharp rap on the door, and for a brief moment, Derek thinks he’s hallucinating. When he hears a muffled “Open up, Nurse”, he gets to his feet and opens the door.

There’s Dex, his hair still wet from the post-practice shower, with an armful of snacks and a full backpack.

“Let me in?” He asks, a little sheepishly, and Derek almost cracks a smile. He opens the door wider and Will comes into the room, dumping the armful of snacks – are those Pringles??? - on Derek’s desk.

“So, you’ve said before that your immune system is mad strong and you were fine yesterday,” Will unpacks a laptop from the bag, “therefore I’m assuming it’s not body-sick, it’s brain-sick.”

Derek raises an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest.

“Am I right?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. Well, not _good_. Good that I’m right, but not good that you’re having a Day, so…” He trails off, and finally stands up to look Derek in the eyes. “Do you wanna watch shitty eighties movies and blow off our diets with all these snacks?”

Derek thinks, just for a second. He really doesn’t understand why Dex is being nice to him. He claws a hand through his hair.

“I. I can leave too. If you want me to.” Will says, more nervously this time. Derek grabs his wrist, and forces a smile.

“No. this is great. As long as we start with _Ferris Beuller_.”

Will smiles back.

So they spend the rest of Thursday sitting against the wall on Derek’s bed, watching _Beetlejuice_ after _Pretty in Pink_ after _The Goonies_ and Derek’s sure his bloodstream is 60% sugar at this point but he doesn’t care.

“Will?” He says after a while, halfway through _Mystic Pizza_. Will takes a moment, letting Daisy finish her sentence, and turns his head before his eyes follow to look at Derek.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Derek says softly, watching Will’s face morph from inquisitive to relieved.

“It’s no problem.”

“No.” Derek looks down at the bag of popcorn in his lap. “ _Thank you_. For today. And for that other day in the snow. And at the club with that guy. You’re always coming to my rescue.”

“Hey. You don’t need rescuing. You just don’t know how to talk to the right guys.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. And it’s okay. I’ve got your back.” Will smiles, warm and genuine, and Derek’s stomach does a very not chill little flip-flop.

“I know you have questions, and I will answer them, but-”

“But _nothing_.” Will presses. “Yeah, of course I’ve got questions. But I don’t need them answered. Not until you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Why are you saying all the right things?” Derek says, with a knitted brow.

“My sister went through something like you.” Dex said slowly, looking back at the screen whilst he talked. “Obviously her situation is completely different, but she spent a lot of time in her bed after it happened. She wouldn’t come down and hang out with the rest of us. So I spent a lot of time delivering take-out to her room and opening her curtains and helping her brush her teeth and stuff.”

“When was this?” Derek asks, bringing his knees up to his chest.

“When she was midway through secondary school. There was this guy that was just _awful_ to her. He really fucked her up for a while.”

Derek’s breath hitches. It’s not the same. But it’s close enough to make him tense up.

“Is she… is she better now?”

Will smiles, genuinely fucking beams at that. “Yes! She’s _so_ much better. She started seeing a counsellor and he actually ended up transferring schools, so she didn’t have to see him anymore. She’s going to university next year, to study something super smart that I can’t even pronounce, and I’m so proud of her.”

Derek smiles too, glancing over at Will, who’s already looking at him.

“What’s her name?”

“Abigail.”

“So sweet!” Derek says, and unprompted, Will grabs his phone and pulls up a picture that Derek instantly recognises as the picture on his wall.

“So that’s her there,” Will zooms in with his thumb and forefinger to show a short girl with cropped red hair, and dark brown eyes. “That’s Terry, he’s the oldest,” he slides the image over to a tall, well-built guy in a flannel that Derek swears he’s seen Will wearing. “Ruth and Kenny are twins, not identical, obviously, but they’re older than me. And then this is Emma.” He zooms into the smallest member of the family, standing at the front but on her tiptoes, smiling wide and showing off the gaps in her teeth.

“I know this guy.” Derek says, pointing to where Will stands at the back, holding up bunny ears behind Abigail’s head and smiling widely. He looks up to Will now, who’s turning red as they speak, the blush creeping from his cheeks down to his throat. Derek gets why he’s embarrassed. Talking about family is rough sometimes, especially when you’re at university and they’re miles away and you can’t just rush home and hug them all.

Derek gets his own phone out, and shows Will the picture of his moms, himself, and his sister. “I only have one sibling. My mom had me, and then my other mom had Hannah, but our dad’s the same dad. We see him like twice a year. But he’s got his own family now, so there’s that.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat, and Will notices, but he doesn’t pick up on it. He just leans in closer to get a better look.

“That’s Hannah?”

“Yeah. She’s like. Sixteen here.”

“She’s beautiful.” Will says. “She’s got the same eyes as you. And her nose is super similar.”

Derek scoffs. “Yeah. The only good thing we got from our dad.”

Will locks his phone, and tosses it to the side. But, being the expert hockey player he is and all, he misjudges it and watches belatedly as the phone bounces off the comforter and hits the floor with a resounding thunk.

He leans over to grab it, but stays down for a beat too long.

“Derek?”

“Hm?” Derek replies, locking his phone and looking over to where Will is.

And then he realises what Will is looking at.

And his heart sinks to the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, dude. Don’t… don’t worry about it. I haven’t cleaned that out since I got here. Lardo wants them for an art project or something.”

Will is now crouched on the floor. He sweeps out an armful of empty glass bottles from under Derek’s bed.

Truth is, he _hadn’t_ cleaned that out recently. And he only noticed that he needed to clear it when he was drunk, but by that point, he’d tossed the empty bottle under his bed, and headed off to cut in the bathroom, and only thought about the empty bottles again when he was drunk again.

“Derek.” Will says again, his voice cautious. He sits back on his knees, looking up at where Derek sits uncomfortably shifting his weight from side to side. “Derek, this is a lot.”

“I know.”

“This is _too much_.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier.” Derek says simply, Will raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay.” Will says. “That’s okay. Let’s just. Let’s clear these out. Okay?”

Derek feels sick as he dives under his bed to clear out bottles that he’d forgotten he’d even drunk, bottles of wine and beer and spirits, and when the fuck did he drink a half-litre of absinthe? Will helps him pack the bottles into plastic trash bags – three, to be exact – and he takes them out into the hall.

Derek feels very small and very ashamed.

“Hey.” Will says, standing up and exhaling heavily. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not really though, is it?” Derek spits, suddenly angry. Not at Will. At himself. “It’s pathetic.”

“No. it’s just. You’re struggling. And this is easier.”

Derek chews on his bottom lip. He feels like a kid whose parents have just said _we’re not mad, just disappointed_ , and he wants the floor to swallow him up.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got _nothing_ to be sorry for. Seriously.” Will says. “Let’s just. Let’s make a promise. Let’s not drink, neither of us, unless it’s at a party.”

For a bit of a dickhead, Will is very good at coming up with solutions to problems. Nursey is grateful for this, more so now than he has been before. 

“Deal?” Will says, his voice so quiet it’s barely there.

He can’t get words out, so he just holds out his hand.

Derek takes it and shakes it, and then, _oh_ , Will is bringing him in for a hug. Derek does his best not to cry as he buries his head in Will’s right shoulder, as he feels strong arms wrap around his middle.

“You’ve got this. I’m here.” Will whispers, and Derek feels like he might faint.

They break apart after a while, and they order Chinese food. Will grabs two glasses for soda and they watch _Back to the Future_.

There’s a kegster, because of course there is. It’s at the Haus again, like before, and Derek has to beg Shitty to make sure that Brett is clearly and definitely not invited. Shitty being Shitty, informs Jack and Lardo, his chief security bros, that should they see this Generic Looking White Man at any point during the kegster, he needs to be kicked out immediately for unspecified reasons.

Derek spends a good portion of the evening trying not to think about _that_ kegster and has the brilliant idea that every time a memory of that night pops up, he drinks the thought away. But every time he raises that cup to his lips, Shitty gives him this awful pitying look that makes him want to throw up. That’s why he’s sitting on the roof, furiously smoking, and staring at the empty cup in his hand.

“God, how do you smoke that stuff all the time?” A voice from over his left shoulder asks. It’s Will, coming to sit next to him on the roof. He hands over a cold bottle of beer and taps it with his own glass before raising it to his lips. Thank fuck for Will.

“Easy for you to say, Pointdexter, I’m not the one who drinks a gross smoothie every morning made out of leaves n’ shit.”

“It’s good for you.”

“It’s _green_.”

“Exactly! A lot better than all that nicotine you’re breathing in.”

“Ah, but you see, that _is_ good for me.” Derek stubs out the cigarette on the side. “It’s good for my reputation as an edgy poet.”

Will just rolls his eyes and takes another drink. “Excuse my ignorance, then.”

“Too fucking right.”

A beat of silence. Well – as close to silence you can get when you’re sitting on the roof of a Haus that’s practically vibrating with music and people and voices.

“You’re smoking more than you used to, though.” Will comments quietly. Derek looks over, but the redhead’s got his eyes glued to his shoes.

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, I’m just… I’m just worried about you, man. You used to only smoke like, three a day. Or whatever. But now… it’s constant.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I smoke when I’m nervous. It helps calm me down.”

He doesn’t know why he says that, but it’s out in the air now. Maybe it’s the drink, or the weather, or the fact that Will is _this close_ to him.

Will lets out a noise of frustration. “Then what are you nervous about right now?”

“A lot of stuff, I don’t know man.” Derek wafts his hand as if to swat away his problems. “It’s normal.”

“It’s not, Derek. You… you can tell me if you need to.” Will is staring at his jeans again. “I’m your d-man, I’ve got your back.”

Derek smiles, and chokes down the emotion that he can feel rising in some unknown part of his body. “Thanks, Will.”

Will smiles, and leans back to lay flat on the roof. Derek mirrors him, folding his arms across his chest. It’s a clear evening, and Derek stares at the moon that’s not quite full yet, but still shining bright enough to take the edge off of what would otherwise be a dark night.

“I know nothing about you, Dex.” Derek says, after a while.

“Well, I know nothing about you.” Will counters, snorting a laugh.

“I thought you knew it all when you told me something about how my middle-class wealth meant that I wouldn’t be able to hack living at university without butlers appearing at my beck and call.”

“Hey, I was a lot more stupid than I am now when I said that.” Will elbows Derek in the ribs. “And you said some choice words about my ‘racist ideologies’ when you saw that sticker on my laptop.”

“I didn’t realise it was a loan from your dormmate. My bad.”

“There are loads of things we didn’t realise about one another back then.” Will says, staring up at the stars, and then turning his head to smirk at Derek; a look that just says _fuck, that made me sound like you_.

Derek’s eyes widen. He can feel his heart beating faster.

What the actual fuck.

It’s not like he hasn’t noticed. The way that Will’s eyes are golden honey brown when the sun shines in them just right. The way that Derek can’t talk properly when he’s around Dex; his chirps get less effortless and he catches himself staring at the swell of Dex’s ass in the locker room.

At first, he thought it was just him and his d-man, and that relationship they shared. The way that Ransom and Holster acted, well, Derek just thought that was what d-men were supposed to be like. And then Ransom and Derek had that DMC in the loading docks of Faber about white privilege and religion and maybe not being so straight after all or maybe is it just his d-man? Derek is, to this day, honoured that Ransom chose to have that conversation with him.

Maybe that’s what inspired him today.

The kiss is sweet, slow. A brush of lips that develops into a gentle press, a mix of mouths and skin and fingertips sliding over napes of necks.

Will breaks away first, just enough to let them breathe, but close enough still to keep his hand brushing curls from Derek’s face.

And Derek feels like he’s walked off of the world’s fastest rollercoaster. His heart is thudding so loud he can hear the blood rushing through his ears.

Will is blushing, a pink that spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He looks shy, suddenly vulnerable. Derek immediately starts to worry.

“Was that… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset-”

Will looks panicked, and shakes his head feverishly. “No, no, that was… that was amazing.” Derek smiles and Will smiles back. “Kiss me again, Nurse.”

Derek does so willingly, letting his fingertips card through Will’s short hair, letting his heart get the better of him and as soon as Will wraps his hands around his waist, he feels like he just got back on that rollercoaster.

Will tastes like beer and pie and Derek is sure his breath is gross and cigarette-y but Will doesn’t seem to care. Will licks into his mouth and Derek lets him, lets him crowd him and take control of the kiss, and all he feels is dizziness from how fucking _right_ this feels.

Eventually, Will breaks away, his lips swollen and red and absolutely _sinful_ and Derek just can’t get his head around what just happened.

“Why did that take so long?” He laughs, letting his fingers intertwine with Will’s. Will just smiles back.

“Because we’re both idiots.”

And then, thanks to some fucking deity up there, Derek and Will are dating. Or, at least, making out feverishly in each other’s rooms and calling each other until late and slipping hands around waists. Derek doesn’t understand what he’s done to deserve this, but hey, it’s not like he’s going to complain at this point. He loves feeling like this. He loves sending pointed looks across the locker room whilst Dex is changing, meaningful enough that Dex gets the hint, but subtle enough that the other guys don’t cotton on, or worse, start fining.

They go on their first date at Greenbird’s. Derek finishes his lecture at four, but Will finishes at five, so Derek writes some dumb as shit poetry (something about being smitten and something else about red hair) in the back of his copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , figures Jane Austen wouldn’t be mad about it because he’s found someone and he _knows_ ya gal Jane would be down for a little pining.

There’s a moment, somewhere after a month or so, where Will’s kisses go from hot and sweet to needing something more. Derek relishes in how it feels to have Will’s hands snaking under his waistband, and all he wants to do is touch and kiss and lick and map out every single inch of Will’s skin.

They’re in Derek’s dorm, Peter (or is it Pierre?) is at a late-night language class, and Will is on top of Derek, and Derek feels dizzy with the feeling of Will’s weight pressing him into the mattress.

Will moans, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. _He did that_ , he made that happen, Will is enjoying himself and it’s a result of how Derek is treating him and that makes Derek keen under presses of fingertips on pulse points. Derek lets out a few very not PG moans himself and it’s like that’s the fire under Will’s ass.

It’s not long before Will slides Derek’s shirt up and off, and Derek is so caught up with sucking a bruise that freckled throat that he doesn’t even realise.

And then he does.

And oh, that’s too much too quickly. Derek doesn’t feel his body jerk, feel his walls come crashing back like the shutters on a shopfront.

“Derek?” Will says softly, but it feels like Derek is on an aeroplane and his ears haven’t popped and he can’t quite hear Will.

“Yeah, fine. Fine. Just… just need a breather.” Derek rushes out, hindsight already telling him it came out as a rushed piece of garbage, and all but runs to the bathroom on his corridor, thankfully managing to grab a shirt on the way. Thank fuck it’s dark in the room so Will didn’t see anything. He doesn’t vomit, no, but he is shaking and the vision is growing back around the edges of his eyes, and oh god, it’s getting hard to breathe, and-

Derek knows just how to cope in this situation. He grabs a box from his shelf and double checks the lock on the door. Fishes a blade from underneath the cover of band-aids and antiseptic wipes and steadies himself. As soon as that blade hits his thigh, it’s like he can breathe again. The pressure is let loose and he can just feel the stress melting away as the blood beads up on the surface.

He knows he can’t be long, because Dex will start worrying, so he settles for the few cuts that are slowly and surely gaining momentum, the blood rushing just a little faster, his cells reacting to the wound and sending antibodies and white blood cells and all that jazz to the area to save him. He slaps a medical gauze over the top, secures it with tape, and heads out of the bathroom.

It’s like twisting a camera lens back into focus. Derek can breathe, and he’s back to normal again. If this is what helps, then so fucking be it. It’s only bad if it gets out of control. You know, if he starts cutting somewhere visible, or starts crying on campus, or whatever the emo kids do – right? That’s what he tells himself. But for now, this will do.

When he gets back to his dorm, Will is perched on the bed, comforter twisting anxiously in his too-large hands.

He rises to his feet as soon as he sees Derek come in, eyes flitting over his face to scan for any sign of distress. “Are you okay?” He says, and it comes out like a breath he’s been holding in. Derek can’t bring himself to touch him. He knows it’s what Will needs, and he knows his brain is being a dickhead, but it’s like he can’t move.

“I’m fine, I just. I just feel kinda sick. I think you should go. I don’t want to get you sick, too.” It’s such a fucking lie, and it’s not even a good one. But it fools Will, who reaches a gentle hand out to rub Derek’s shoulder. Derek flinches but lets him, and all but slams the door after Will leaves.

Derek slams the heels of his hands into his temples and sinks to the floor. He fumbles for the razor he keeps hidden in his bedside table drawer (hidden in the pages of his copy of _Brave New World_ , he’s never gonna read that snoozefest again).

He shimmies his track pants off and just goes to town.

At some point during this, he passes out. Maybe from the adrenaline come-down, maybe from the loss of blood. But he wakes up to gross dried blood caked on his skin and, even worse, gelatinous beads of blood that clearly have only just slowed down. He looks at the mess around him. Bits of kitchen paper soaked through with blood. A stain on the carpet he’s gonna get charged for. He’s getting worse. It’s all spiralling and something has got to give before Derek accidentally, or otherwise, goes too far.

It all spirals when Will finds out. Derek feels like his heart goes cold and shrinks up like a raisin inside his chest as he feels Will’s eyes on him. He’s hurt, and there’s no feeling worse than this. It’s not like he tried to hide it, but at what point in a relationship do you point out “hey dude I really like you and everything and also I cut myself on the regular but it’s under control don’t worry about it”? it’s not something that comes up in conversation unless you bring it up, and Derek has never been comfortable bringing it up. Even the phrase “cut myself” makes him cringe; it just sounds so angsty and so teenage and Derek just can’t bring himself to say it. But putting it off makes the eventual discovery even worse.

That brings us back to the present. Will’s peppering kisses down Derek’s torso, and undoing his belt, and shimmying off his jeans, and Derek feels him freeze. And here we are. Derek was too caught up in the moment, too focused on _Will Will Will_ and the way that he’s using those stupid long fingers to unbutton the fly on Derek’s jeans and-

“What-” Dex begins, and Derek winces internally. Ah yes, this moment. He chooses to lean forward, and brings Will’s face up to his.

“Ignore it. Kiss me.” He says, and doesn’t give Will any time to deliberate before their mouths are on each other’s, and Derek lets out a little whine that’s completely unnecessary and is absolutely a distraction technique. It doesn’t work. Fuck.

“Nurse,” Dex says, leaning back, and trying to get another look at the mess on Derek’s thighs whilst Derek just wriggles away. “What _happened_?”

“It’s fine. Just forget about it.”

“Derek.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“ _Derek_.”

Derek huffs, and gets up off of the bed. He pulls up his jeans and does up the fly as he walks over to the desk. Grabs a jersey from the back of the chair. Tugs it on over his head. Only flinches a little when he feels Will’s hands on his hips.

“When?”

“When what?”

“When did it _start_?” Will chokes out, his voice cracking. Derek turns to face him, lacking the confidence to bring his own arms around Will too.

“When I was fourteen. It’s not a big deal, Will, honestly-”

“Bullshit!” Dex almost shouts, and scrubs a hand over his mouth as if to apologise for raising his voice. He takes a step back, away from Derek, ever so slightly. “It _is_ a big deal. You’ve… you’ve been hurting for so long and nobody has done anything to help.”

Derek scoffs. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”

“Have you tried squeezing an ice cube?”

“Yep.”

“Snapping a rubber band?”

“Yep.”

“The Butterfly Project?”

“Oh, for fucks sake, Poindexter.”

Derek sits at the desk with his head in his hands. Will sits on the other bed and doesn’t know what to do.

A minute or two of uncomfortable silence passes. Neither of them move.

“Derek, why are you doing this?” Will says softly. Nursey lets out a huff of laughter that’s not remotely funny.

“Big question.”

“For fuck’s sake, take this seriously.”

“No genuinely, you fucking tell me, because I don’t know why. It’s a shit coping mechanism and it’s fucking annoying to deal with. So you tell _me_.” Derek knows he’s being stubborn. Probably chalks it down to his walls being built back up, to self-loathing, to all sorts of stuff.

“Is it because of that guy?” Will says, sliding to sit on the floor from the mattress. Derek raises an eyebrow, and gets up almost on autopilot and heads over to the desk.

“What guy?”

“The guy that Shitty told me about.”

Nursey freezes. Says nothing. Which, in hindsight, says more than if Derek had simply just said ‘no’. Will tiptoes closer to Derek, who may or may not be shaking just a little bit.

“Derek, what happened? What did he do?”

“Nothing.” He says as calmly as he can, trying to block those god-awful visions from his brain.

“Derek.” Will says, and his voice cracks after the first syllable, and Derek makes the mistake of looking up, and oh-

Will looks more serious than he’s ever been – even when he had only thirty minutes to rewrite a whole system of code for one of his classes – and he’s confused and he doesn’t understand and Derek can’t explain because-

“It’s not a big deal. It… it was a long time ago. I should be over it.”

“But you’re not. It’s clearly still getting to you.” Dex takes two long steps to where Derek is sitting, and leans on the desk. Derek is shaking. Dex places a soft hand on Derek’s back, and Derek feels like he can breathe again. Just a little.

“What did Shitty say?” Derek demands. Will immediately looks uncomfortable, but Derek channels as much determination into his expression as he can. Will sighs, grabs Derek’s hands, and pulls him to the floor. They sit side by side, leaning back against the desk. Derek folds his arms across his body and Will drums his fingertips against his knee.

“He said about a guy from last year. And how… how he forced you into something you didn’t want to do.”

Derek can’t even look Will in the eye.

“Derek, Shitty implied that this guy forced you into sex.”

“ _No_.” Derek says immediately. “No, no no. That’s not true. He didn’t… I didn’t… it’s not like. It’s _not like that_.” He feels his breath hitch in his throat and no he is not going to be overdramatic now no no no-

“It’s not like he drugged me, or, or… or whilst I was asleep… or anything. No. it’s more… it _was consensual,_ Will, it _was_ -”

He doesn’t know he’s crying until Will wipes away hot tears of embarrassment off of his cheeks. He lets out a very unchill sob and lets his head fall into Will’s shoulder, and then they’re doing this weird kind of hug thing but Will is just holding Derek and rubbing soft, soothing circles into his shoulder blades. He is patient. He waits for Derek to regain his composure.

“It was fine. It was okay. And then… and then I asked him to use a… a, um, protection,” Derek gulps noisily, “And he wouldn’t. And then it hurt. And I… I couldn’t say. I couldn’t ask him to stop.”

“Why couldn’t you ask?”

“It was just _sex_. That’s what… that’s what’s supposed to happen your first time. It’s norm-”

“Derek.” Will says firmly, taking Derek’s hands in his own and pulling back so he catches Derek’s eye. “Sex is not supposed to hurt. It’s not supposed to be like that. He should have listened to you.”

“But this happens to everyone.” Derek laughs to himself, picking at the skin around his fingernails. “Everyone regrets their first time. It’s just how it happens.”

“No.” Will says, breath catching as he tries to emphasise the point. “Derek, it’s not supposed to happen that way. He… he didn’t…”

“It was just sex! It wasn’t as if… as if he _assaulted_ me. He didn’t. I _said_ that it was okay. I said that I was fine with it.” Derek is angry now, pacing around the room and Will just watches, helpless. “It’s not as if I could have just said ‘hey dude this hurts let’s not’, because how could I have done? I couldn’t… it’s not… and even when I asked him – I _asked_ _him_ to stop and he didn’t, he just, he-”

Derek can’t finish whatever he was saying because there’s sobs choking their way up through his windpipe and he can’t see because his eyes are blurry from these dumb fucking tears.

But Will. Will is there to catch him, grabs him before he loses his balance from pacing. He pulls Derek into a fierce hug. It conveys what it needs to. Soft kisses on salty cheeks and gentle thumbs wiping away tear tracks. Silent getting into bed and lying as close to one another as possible. Hitched breathing and wet eyelashes. Derek feels like he can breathe. Just a little easier. He counts the freckles on Will’s nose to calm down.

“I’m sorry.” Derek mumbles.

“You literally have nothing to apologise for.” Will replies, his hand reaching up to smooth through Derek’s hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t have to. I knew you were hiding something; I just wish it wasn’t this. I wish it wasn’t making you hurt so much.”

Will stays in Derek’s dorm four nights out of seven, and they take the three off to actually get some work done instead of being dumb loved-up young adults.

There’s this one night that Dex stays over, sometime in April. They brush their teeth in the bathrooms and Derek gingerly wipes toothpaste from Will’s cheek and earns a minty-fresh kiss in return. It’s gentle touches and soft sweatpants and Derek is so fucking relaxed, he all but melts into Will when they get into bed. Derek’s back is pressed against Will’s chest, leaving absolutely no room for Jesus and sharing as much warmth as possible. Will wraps his arms around Derek’s middle, presses a soft kiss just underneath Derek’s ear, and they drift off.

But of course, Derek’s brain won’t let him have anything nice, because the nightmare that turns up that night is one of the worst he’s had in ages. He feels phantom traces of Brett on his skin and he’s running and running and he can’t get away and Brett is chasing up to him-

“Hey, hey. Nurse. Are you alright?” Will flips the bedside light on, and Derek blinks, taking a minute to understand that he’s here in his dorm room with Will and he’s safe. Then he feels how damp from sweating he is, and cringes.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles to himself, swinging his feet to the floor and getting up as quickly as he can.

“Derek?” Will asks, and Derek looks over to Will, hair ruffled and half-asleep still, but lines of concern evident on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep, I’m gonna. I’m gonna take a shower.”

And Derek does take a shower, but not before leaving seven cuts just underneath his hipbone, where the skin and muscle is sensitive and it hurts more. He lets the hot water of the shower get into the wounds and it stings and he relishes in it. When he’s out, he sticks a bandage over the top, and changes into fresh sweatpants, and one of Dex’s sleep-soft t-shirts. He feels a lot calmer.

He pads softly back to his room and when he gets there, he sees Will, who has changed the sheets and somehow found the softest blanket that Derek forgot he had and there are two steaming polystyrene cups of hot chocolate from the vending machine on the bedside table. Derek’s face crumples up in affection. He flops onto the bed, stomach down, and sighs as Will traces patterns up and down his spine.

“What happened?”

“Just a nightmare.” Derek mumbles, his speech muffled by the pillow. “Happens a lot, don’t worry.”

“Dude, that makes me worry more. How much is ‘a lot’?”

“Like, four nights a week? Maybe five?” Derek keeps his head buried in the pillow. He feels Will’s fingers still for a brief moment, before picking the rhythm back up again.

“What are they about?”

“The same thing.” Derek sighs. “I just can’t get over it.”

Will flattens his palms against Derek’s skin, smoothing his palms up and down his back, massaging out the muscles in his shoulders. Derek feels like he’s melting into the mattress.

“Have you ever thought about seeing someone? You know, talking to someone about this?”

“I’m talking to you.”

“No.” Will huffs out a laugh. “I meant someone professional.”

“Mm. Maybe.” Derek moans in pleasure as Will works out some of the tension that’s been building up in his shoulders. “Please keep doing that. I’ll be asleep in seconds at this rate.”

Will laughs, a real one this time, and Derek thinks that’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

The first time he gets to sleep with Will is on a Saturday night. Will took him out on a date. Like a real date. Derek can hardly breathe. Will texts him in the morning;

Will: let’s go out tonight. just us two. i’ll pick you up at 7

Derek: like a date? ;)

Will: yes, you moron

Derek spends at least two hours staring at his wardrobe and trying on pretty much everything he owns. He settles on a black pair of skinny jeans, and a soft, denim-blue shirt. He throws on his Timberlands – thinks of how Dex is going to chirp him about them – and a khaki parka. He’s about to leave, just grabbing his phone, when Peter (Paul sounds more like it) enters from the kitchen, can of off-brand soda in hand.

“Date night?” He says, and Derek nods. He stretches out his free hand, and bumps his own fist against Derek’s. Derek smiles as he heads out to Will’s room.

Will is waiting out the front of the dorm when he gets there, and he lights up when he sees Derek.

“Hey.” He says, bringing his hands up to cup Derek’s chin, and kisses him.

“You’re warm!” Derek says, laughing, and pulling him in by the waist.

Derek kisses him, tilting his head to get a better angle. Derek still feels a little dizzy when he’s kissing Will. He smells like laundry detergent and _clean_ and something else that’s inexplicably _Will_ and it makes Derek giddy with excitement every time he’s this close.

Will takes a deep breath as he pulls away, his eyes flitting over Derek’s face as he smiles breathlessly. “More of that later? Let’s get going.”

They head to the café that stays open late that’s just on the other side of the Pond. They’re hosting an acoustic set, and as Derek walks in with Will’s hand laced in his, he feels right at home. There are twinkle lights strung up, and the exposed brick and industrial piping is what Holster describes as ‘rich hipster chic’. Derek goes to the counter to order – a decaf black coffee for him, a hot chocolate for Will. There’s wine and beer in the fridges behind the counter, but Derek doesn’t even spare it a second glance.

Will’s chosen a sofa by the corner, next to a tall leafy plant and with a small coffee table. Derek sits their drinks down on the table and gently sits down on the sofa.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Will smiles wide. Derek smiles back, like that greeting is the best thing he’s ever heard.

There’s a girl setting up her music equipment over on the makeshift stage, and Derek wriggles out of his jacket.

“Do you have coffee shops like this at home?” Derek asks.

“Nah. Well, one or two, but they’re too far away, and their coffee is shit anyway.” Will says. “I feel this is very much your scene.”

“Duh. Except I can only do the open mic nights. I can’t play an instrument.”

“I can.”

Derek leans back to look at Will, shocked. “Hold up. Seriously?”

Will laughs. “Yeah. I’ve been playing the guitar since I was like. Eleven.”

“Okay. You are so going to have to play for me one day.”

“I’ll play _Wonderwall_ , just for you.”

“Fuck off, you will not.” Derek says, poking a finger into Will’s chest. “I accept only hipster tunes, edgy emo songs from like, 2009, and heartfelt renditions of eighties ballads.”

Will rolls his eyes.

The musician starts playing, singing softly into the microphone, and Derek is almost hypnotised. He laces his fingers with Will’s and leans back into his chest.

They listen, they talk about everything and nothing, they order more drinks.

Will has been on dates, sure. This isn’t even his and Will’s first date. But there’s something soft, slow, about it that makes Derek feel his heart swell in his chest like it’s going to explode through his rib cage. He sneaks glances up at Will when he’s not looking, and watches him watching the musician. He drums his fingers against his thigh, and he’s so clearly comfortable.

Derek thinks, not for the first time, that he might definitely be in love with this guy.

If you had told him this at the beginning, at that first fresher’s event, Derek would have laughed in your face.

And now, it makes more sense than anything else in his life.

Will catches him staring, and smiles back at Derek. He presses a soft kiss to his temple, and goes back to watching the musician.

They walk back in the cold and Will gushes about how great she was, about how Farmer had told him about her and that he’d been wanting to see one of her sets for ages.

“Hey, Derek?”

“Hmm?” Derek looks up, and sees Will looking a little nervous. He’s gently swinging his arms at his sides and looking anywhere but at Derek’s face.

“Do you… do you want to come back to my place?”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

The look of panic must be evident on Derek’s face, because Will immediately shakes his head and laughs awkwardly, and scrubs a hand over his hair.

“Don’t worry. It was a stupid question.”

“Will. I would _love_ to.” Derek breathes, and Will raises an eyebrow. “But. It’s _me_. Are you sure you-”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my whole fucking life.” Will interrupts, and pulls Derek in to kiss him, trying to get his point across. Derek is very full of Emotion.

They get back to Will’s, but before they get into the room, Derek pushes Will back against the door, and kisses him, totally _dirty_ and at least in Derek’s head, conveys exactly what he wants to happen once they get inside that door. Will groans loudly, and fumbles with his keys. Derek has to help him, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

Once they’re in, they forget to turn the lights on. They’re too busy making out like they’re running out of time, fingers entwining, mouths pressed to necks, noses bumping together.

Derek takes his jacket off and they laugh as Will’s fingers fumble with the buttons of Derek’s shirt.

Will turns on his speakers softly to play some edgy indie tunes that Derek will definitely be chirping him about later. Derek sits on the bed, waiting, and Will straddles his hips. He leans down so their foreheads are touching. It’s quiet, and intimate, and serious. Derek’s heart is fluttering around his chest and it’s very not chill, but like, in the good way.

“Hey.” Will whispers.

“Hey.” Derek replies.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes. Is this okay for you?”

“One thousand percent, _yes._ ” Will says, gently pushing Derek back and coming down to follow him. Derek’s legs fall apart and Will slots himself between them.

The sex is so good, it’s ridiculous. It feels like something from a movie. Will is all the right parts soft and powerful and vulnerable. When he holds up a condom between his index and middle fingers, eyebrow raised in question, Derek nods vehemently and pulls him down to kiss him again.

Will doesn’t even care about the scars. Just lets his fingertips skim over them lightly, just enough to acknowledge they’re there, but not enough to make Derek feel uncomfortable.

Will asks Derek if he’s okay often and he listens for Derek’s firm and definite _yes_ before taking things any further. Derek does the same for Will. Undoubtedly.

After they’re done, and laying side by side, both breathing heavily, Derek laughs in disbelief.

“What is it?” Will hums, taking Derek’s hand in his own and lacing their fingers together.

“I just. I didn’t realise it was supposed to feel that good.”

There’s a beat of stillness, and then Will kisses him by way of response, deep and slow, and Derek wonders, not for the first time, how he got so lucky.

They spend the Sunday tangled together in Will’s dorm. His roommate is sexiled and Will vows to make it up for him with a year’s worth of candy. They watch reruns of _Friends_ and kiss lazily, hands down each other’s pants like absolute shameless teenagers.

Sex with Will is, to put it lightly, transcendental. Derek has never felt safer than he does in Will’s arms, legs tangled under sheets and hearts pounding through chests. Will seems to know when Derek needs to slow it down and does so immediately, whispering words into Derek’s ear that make him melt. Will knows exactly what Derek likes and Derek fucking loves it when Will blushes and he does everything in his power to make those sounds come from Will’s throat, strangled and desperate and satiated.

There are times when Derek stops mid-whatever and all sorts of sick memories come washing over him and he can hardly breathe and it’s the most embarrassing thing, but Will just stops with him and gets them dressed and makes them tea and they talk it out, and Will plays with Derek’s hair until Derek finally stops shaking.

Will never just carries on when he sees that Derek is uncomfortable.

He stops.

It sounds like it should be a given, but it means a lot to Derek.

He says as much.

And the relationship part is pretty fucking cool too. Maybe it’s because they worked so well on the ice that they work so well together, but they just seem to know what each other needs. Derek likes it when he makes Will laugh until whatever he’s drinking comes out of his nose. Will likes doing domestic things with Derek, like dishes, and laundry, and brushing their teeth together.

They’re even better on the ice. Some weird intuition thing means that they know each other’s moves inside and out, and they’re faster and better and definitely a d-man match for Ransom and Holster.

They get fined like hell in the locker room, but Derek just laughs and promises to fund the next seven kegsters.

Will has a favourite spot in study hall that he introduces Derek to, and when they’re both stressed out about their assignments, they spend time together at the old desk working in silence. They just like being near one another.

When Derek goes to the vending machine for a Gatorade, he always brings back candy for Will. Sourpatch Kids, because he knows they’re his favourite.

Bitty lets them borrow the Haus kitchen when Will tries to teach Derek how to make his favourite childhood food. They get distracted midway through, end up covered in flour, and have a tray of burned Cheddar scones, but that doesn’t even matter. Will laughs, and Derek takes his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He brings him closer, and kisses him. Will’s eyelashes flutter closed and stay rested dark on his cheeks even after Derek pulls away.

Derek wants to write sonnets about the way he looks right now, like this. Peaceful, quiet.

It’s not quiet when Bitty comes back from class and screams about how they wrecked his kitchen.

He’s trying hard to stop with the whole self-harm thing, he _is._ But that’s the thing, addictions are hard to kick, and when it’s something you’ve known for the last five years, it’s even harder.

There’s one night, and Derek doesn’t know how it happens, but it’s one in the morning and he’s on the bathroom floor so anxious he can barely breathe. He’s got a half-litre of whiskey next to him that he found in one of his cupboards. He knows, right down to the pit of his stomach, that if he touches it, he’ll drink the whole thing. He knows how disappointed Dex will be with him.

But it’s so fucking tempting. And Derek needs it, craves it, and as soon as the bottle touches his lips it’s like he’s in a trance. He takes a big gulp, wincing as the liquor burns his throat.

And then he takes another.

And another.

And doesn’t stop until the bottle is half empty.

He grabs a Stanley knife – mixing it up again! Wow! – and presses it deep, deep into his skin. It’s like unlocking a door, or cracking a joint, it’s just instant relief. He relishes in it. He knows it’s not right, but it’s not like he deserves any better. He deserves to rip himself to shreds, he deserves to bleed out on the floor-

He cuts deep, angry slashes, and muffles a cry when it hurts more than he’d anticipated.

He runs out of room on his left leg, and moves to his right. He tries not to grimace as the blood drips down the outside of his thighs and onto the linoleum.

And then, he realises, as the blood is starting to slow and beading thick, he’s out of supplies. He forgot to pick up more medical gauze and bandages at the store. He’s got two antiseptic wipes left, but that’s nowhere near enough for what he’s done. He presses some toilet paper to the wounds, but the two-ply that the university supplies the bathrooms with is not helpful, and just tears.

Shit.

He can feel the whiskey clouding his brain already. His arms feel heavy, and he takes another drink to try and remedy that.

And takes another.

And another, when he realises he’s going to have to call for help.

Clumsily, he reaches for his phone from where he left it on the sink counter and wipes blood from his fingertips before the screen recognises his touch. He calls Will, who picks up on the second ring.

“Der?” He answers sleepily.

“Will.” Derek breathes. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, it’s… it’s just-”

“Derek, are you okay?”

“Can you come help me?” Derek says. “Do you have any band-aids?”

“Oh, Derek.” Will sighs sadly. “It’s okay. I’ll be there in five.”

“Mmm.” Derek hums, looking at the mess he’s made. Will is going to hate him.

True to his word, Will is there in four minutes and forty-eight seconds. He must have run. He bursts into the bathroom, still in the denim jacket that he stole from Derek and a soft grey beanie. With wide eyes, Will takes in what he sees – Derek leaning against the sink cupboard in a t-shirt and boxers, blood all over himself and the floor. The almost empty bottle of whiskey to his right.

Derek watches pathetically as Will tosses his backpack to the floor and pulls out a comically large first-aid kit. Derek would chirp him if the room wasn’t spinning so fast.

“Okay, Der, can I sit you up here?” Will says, and Derek nods, so they struggle together to get Derek sitting up on the closed toilet seat. He leans his head against the cool tile.

Will gets to work wiping away the blood with a warm washcloth that he has to keep rinsing out in the sink.

Derek reaches out to touch Will’s face. He does not deserve this. Will deserves so much better than him, he’s an absolute fucking mess and he’s so fucking pathetic-

“Hey, hey. You are good. You aren’t a mess, and you’re not pathetic. It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” Will says, placing his hand over Derek’s, as Derek realises he’s said that out loud.

Will is very pale as he applies pressure to the heavier wounds that have started bleeding again. “You should get stitches for these.”

“Noooo.” Derek whines. “They’re fine, I’ve had worse.”

Will just screws up his face and he grabs an antiseptic wipe from Derek’s shelf and gingerly swipes it across Derek’s thighs. Derek winces as it stings, grabbing onto Will’s hand harder, and Will just softly shushes him.

“I’m sorry.” Derek says, near to crying.

“What _happened?_ ” Will says, as he grabs a length of soft cotton gauze from the first-aid kit and starts laying it over Derek’s left leg.

“I don’t even know. I just felt sad.”

Will sighs, but it’s not angry, it’s not exasperated. “We have to get you a better coping mechanism, Nurse.” He gently sticks on medical tape to secure the gauze, and looks up at Derek. Derek’s staring back at him.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. Why would I be mad?”

“Cause of the,” Derek gestures around him, “the drinking, and I… we promised. I _promised_.”

“Hey.” Will says, brushing the curls out of Derek’s eyes. “It’s okay to slip up sometimes.”

Derek would say something poetic in response, but instead, he’s too busy shoving Will off of him, lifting the toilet seat, and throwing up the whiskey into the bowl.

Will doesn’t even miss a beat. He just sits there, next to Derek, rubbing his back.

Derek got really fucking lucky.

Fifteen minutes, one very thorough tooth brush, and a change of clothes later, Will has gotten Derek into his bed, as comfortable as possible, with a glass of water he’s sipping through a straw. Will gently sits down beside him, and hands Derek a piece of toast.

“Eat this. It’s how you like it.”

“It’s well done! Thank you!” Derek exclaims, grabbing the charred (definitely burnt) toast and munching away happily.

“That’s gross.”

“Shut up, at least I don’t like my toast basically just warm bread.”

“It tastes better.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Will gets up to change. Derek watches mindfully (like an absolute creeper) as he grabs clothes out of Derek’s wardrobe and puts them on; a soft pair of sweatpants with a hole in the right knee, and a long-sleeved shirt.

“I like you in my clothes.” Derek says as Will turns out the overhead light and comes to lie down next to Derek. He reaches over to brush crumbs from Derek’s chest, and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I truly am sorry, Will. I’m trying.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I know you are.” Will says. “I just. What if you hadn’t called me?”

Derek creases his brow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You lost a _lot_ of blood, Derek. A lot.” Will’s voice cracks. Just a little. But enough for Derek to hear.

“But I’m fine.”

“Derek, you passed out whilst we were in there.” Will said, eyes flitting over Derek’s face for any sign that he knew what Will was going on about. “For a good few minutes. I thought I was going to have to take you to the hospital.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Derek, you could have _died_.” Will’s voice cracks again, and he buries his head into Derek’s shoulder to hide his face.

“I didn’t. I didn’t _mean_ -”

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Will says, lacing his fingers with Derek’s and pressing a watery kiss to his cheek. “First thing tomorrow, we get this sorted.”

Tomorrow comes, and Derek is desperately hungover, but really tries hard to pretend not to be for Will’s sake. Will leaves Derek in the bed for a couple of minutes, and comes back from the bathroom pale and smelling of bleach. He helps Derek to his feet and to the bathroom, which is squeaky clean.

Wordlessly, he helps Derek shower, and, when Derek’s wrapped in a fluffy towel, he helps him re-dress his legs.

They look fucking awful, Derek thinks. The new ones are bright and raised, and the ones underneath crisscross over one another. Will sits back on his heels and with shaky hands, presses fresh gauze over the top.

“Thank you, Will.”

Will nods, and swallows a lump in his throat. He looks up at Derek and fakes a smile. “Let’s get going?”

They walk to the campus nurse, and Will sits next to Derek and holds his hand whilst the nurse asks him all sorts of questions, things like ‘how many units of alcohol do you consume a week?’ and ‘how often do you find yourself having low mood?’ and, worst of all, ‘how long ago did the assault take place?’. Derek is ashamed of the answers. Will just squeezes his hand.

Derek gets signed up for CBT, with a therapist to help him reverse the thinking process that makes him hurt himself in the first place. She’s nice, and when Derek meets her the first week, he feels like he could trust her. He’s heard all sorts of horror stories about therapists; ones who check their phones, ones who make the problem worse – but her soft, unassuming presence makes him think that she’s a good fit.

At the end of their first session, she tells Derek that he’s showing textbook symptoms of PTSD; not sleeping, night terrors, panic attacks, and mood swings, and says that the self-harm likely got worse because of the Incident. She gently asks if Derek wants to report Brett, but Derek just shakes his head. He’s not worth it.

When he leaves her office, Will is waiting in reception, and they leave together, hand in hand.

They head back to Will’s dorm because Will wants to watch _Rent_ with Derek (Derek knows it’s because that’s his favourite film), and when they get there, their mouths fall open.

Two bodies are tangled together on the other bed, and Derek sees his dormmate’s ratty slippers at the door.

“Ryan?” Will says to his roommate, who starts laughing.

“You’re dating Will?” Peter (maybe even Parker!) says to Derek, as he sits up and adjusts his shirt.

“You’re dating Will’s _roommate_?” Derek laughs.

“Dominic and I have been dating for like, six months now.” Ryan says, and, wait what?

Hang on.

 _Dominic_?

Derek could have sworn it was Peter. He was _way_ off. He shrugs.

“Sooo.” Will says, grabbing his laptop from the desk. “I guess we’ll head to Derek’s, then.”

Somewhere a couple of weeks later, Will moves into Derek’s dorm, and Dominic moves into Will’s dorm. Will and Derek push the beds together in the middle of the room (Dex puts some strategically placed screws into the framework so they don’t slide apart) and they spend as much time as they can together.

Therapy is fucking intense, dude. Some days he comes out crying and he doesn’t even know why, because they didn’t even cover much, but Janet – his therapist – says it’s all part of the process. Some days he leaves angry, the urge to smash everything around him to pieces, but Will just steers him out of the building and they go to the gym instead, where Will makes sure Derek can punch and lift and grumble as much as he needs to without hurting himself. When he’s feeling better, Derek tries as many cheesy pick-up lines on Dex whilst he’s lifting weights. None of them work, but Will’s already flushed face goes a little redder.

Will is always there. Derek struggles a lot. He struggles more than he lets on, but Will has got a sixth fucking sense and is always there with the right thing. Derek hopes he can be there for Will like that one day should he ever need it, though he doubts he could ever live up to how amazing Will is.

Derek starts getting changed in the regular locker room with the other guys. The first time, he shakes as he changes, but nobody looks. Nobody looks the next time, or the time after, in fact, it’s almost a month before anyone actually notices.

Derek looks up to see Shitty staring at his legs, with a face like the scars had personally offended him. When Shitty looks him in the eye, he says nothing. Just a little half nod, that Derek understands. Shitty knows he’s getting better. The fact that he’s here is testament to that.

As they’re leaving Faber, Shitty takes Derek aside and pulls him into a tight hug, tight enough that Derek hears a few of his joints crack under Shitty’s grip.

“I _fucking_ love you, brah.” He says, slightly watery.

Derek laughs into Shitty’s chest. “Love you too, bro.”

In a beautiful display of sports-dude-ness, they fist-bump, and walk out of the building together.

Will comes back from class on a Wednesday and it’s clear he’s hiding something. When Derek gets up to greet him, he takes his hand, and the knuckles are bloodied.

“Will, _what_.” Derek says, dragging him to the bathroom to clean him up. They keep a well-stocked first aid kit now. Not that they need it as much.

“What the fuck happened to you!?” Derek exclaims, rinsing off the extra blood from his hand under the running water from the faucet.

“Um. Funny story.” Will blushes. “I saw someone as I was walking out of class. I… I couldn’t not.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise into oblivion as he realises that his lanky-ass boyfriend punched Brett. On campus. In front of people.

“William Poindexter, you did _not-_ ”

Will shrugs, trying hard to conceal a grin, and dries off his hand. “He understood what it was for.”

“Violence isn’t the answer.”

“Sometimes it is.” Will is really grinning now, and Derek shakes his head. His smile comes easy.

He grabs the back of Will’s neck and pulls him in to kiss him. It’s not a thank you, nor is it angry. It’s just appreciation.

“You’re an idiot.” Derek smiles.

“So are you.”

“But I love you anyways.”

“So do I.”

It's been four years of crazy.

Will and Derek move into the Haus after Lardo graduates, and Will deconstructs the bunkbed to make a bed big enough for the two of them to sleep side by side in. Derek hangs up yards and yards of twinkle lights and Will grumbles about the electricity bill. He changes his mind, however, when Derek surprises him one day with all the twinkle lights on and fresh sheets and a candle and a playlist of thirty-seven hand-picked romance songs that Derek made instead of working on his assignment for medieval literature.

Jordan and Mason come to visit again. Noah’s overseas at an overpriced university in England, but they skype him from Mason’s phone. They meet Will again, properly this time, and Jordan nearly cries when Will beats him brutally in Mario Kart.

They all smoke on the roof together and somehow Mason knows about the fine system because when Derek leans in to kiss Will on the cheek, Mason holds out his hand for cash. Derek rolls his eyes and presses a note into his outstretched palm.

Dominic, Ryan, Will, and Derek go on a double date at one of the bars nearby. Dominic howls with laughter when he learns that Derek thought he was called Peter for like, a good eight months. They’re good together, Derek thinks. He hopes he and Will look as loved-up as they do when they’re together.

When Ryan and Will go to the bar to order more drinks, Dominic looks serious for a moment. He confesses that he knew Derek had a drinking problem, and was about to call for help when Will swooped in. Derek looks ashamed, but Dominic just explains that it happens to the best of us and that he’s glad that Will’s there for him. Derek says he’s glad, too.

Will visits Derek in Manhattan over the holidays. He only makes fun of his brownstone like, four times, and he gets on scarily well with Derek’s moms. He gets on even better with Hannah and Derek fears for his life when he sees them at the kitchen table planning something.

Derek’s Mom pulls him into a fierce hug, and tells him that she and Ma are so, so proud of him. She tells him they love Will and that Derek is a better person with him. Derek agrees.

He almost expects it when he gets pied in the face from across the kitchen, thanks to a disgustingly well-engineered catapult with Hannah and Will giggling nearby. He plans his revenge for three months after.

There are still some days when Derek cannot get out of bed. He shakes and can’t sleep and just stares blankly, angrily, at the wall. Will leaves for class in the morning and puts whoever’s in the Haus on watch, and demands an hourly check in. When he gets back, he gets into bed and presses up against Derek’s side. Will talks about his day, and when he feels wet tears on his shirt, he just pulls Derek closer.

Derek thinks about Brett as if it were a bad dream. He knows it happened. He knows that his brain has probably skewed it over the years, but he remembers feeling helpless and used and humiliated. He knows he never wants to feel like that again. He knows he never wants anyone he knows to feel like that, ever. He learns as much as he can about consent and sex and volunteers at the crisis centre on campus. He talks to people who went through horrible, horrible things, and helps steer them in the right direction to get better.

He writes about it, when the thoughts get too much. His pen flits over paper and if he’s feeling brave, he will read it out to Will. Will listens intently and pulls him into a giant, tight hug after.

His writing gets better with practice and he begins to perform at open mic nights at that café. The hockey team come out to support him and completely throw off the vibe when they shout and clap loudly when Derek finishes.

Will performs at the open mic nights too sometimes, with his beat-up acoustic guitar in tow. One night, he all but fucking serenades Derek, stealing nervous glances at him whilst he sings. Derek doesn’t blush, but he smiles really fucking big. When Will climbs off stage, and leans down to kiss Derek, he gets fined so hard he has to buy an entire round of drinks for everyone. He doesn’t even care.

Derek is so, so lucky.

It ends with a graduation.

Derek is there with all of his friends; beaming, wearing a cap that’s too big and keeps slipping off of his head. They take photos by the giant sequoia by the lake and he laughs when Chris tries to throw Caitlin into the lake and laughs even harder when she ends up throwing him in, gown, cap, and all. It’s blissful, it’s straight out of the pamphlet they got in first year, and it’s everything he needs. He’s got his degree in English literature with a specialty in poetry. He’s got a job lined up volunteering at a crisis centre in upper Manhattan. He’s got a team, and a future on the ice. And he’s got Will’s arm firmly wrapped around his waist, holding him tight.

**Author's Note:**

> This took such a long time to write; I'm talking like a year and a half lol. It's longer than both of my dissertations put together hahahahaha
> 
> In case you didn't notice, this whole thing is super personal and based off of experiences that I've had in my own life. People can suck sometimes, ya feel? I really struggled with finding a conclusion to his journey, and how his friends react, because this is something I'm yet to figure out in my own life. I hope I did Derek's imaginary journey justice.
> 
> Was super nervous to post this not only because it is so flipping personal, but because I've read like every Nursey/Dex fic out there and know that I cannot compete with how beautifully written those other works are. I know I won't even come close but I'm being brave lol
> 
> Let me know if there's anything I did wrong or anything I could do better. I'd love to know what you think.
> 
> I'm not about to put in links and numbers to hotlines, because I know you are smart enough to search them out for yourselves should you need them. However, I'll give you my tumblr, so should you want to talk/vent/rant/whatever, please know that I am here for you. I'm not great at advice lol but I can try my best.  
> I'm at mermaidtrench.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you for taking time out of your life to read this!


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